


Alternative Alternia

by Krisander



Series: Alternative Alternia [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crapsack World, Multi, So much angst, So yeah, Trollstuck, Violence, as trolls, did i mention crapsack world??, eventually, i swear there really is plot to it, no really, rape/non con, we are talking alternia with adult trolls still on it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 129,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krisander/pseuds/Krisander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in which a young mutant is given as tribute to the Grand Highblood and struggles to find his place in the world, ultimately coming to the conclusion that social reform is required. Involves over six separate duels (including two for quadrants), many scenes of violence, episode of traumatic flashbacks, multiple scenarios involving mind control, sexual encounters (both consensual and not), the destruction of no less than five fine seagoing vessels, blatant hemocaste desecration, even more blatant hemodiscrimination, two cases of mild quadrant vacillitation, one instance of quadrant fuckupery, and an inordinate amount of swearing. May not be appropriate for grubs and young trolls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gamzee

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Desperation Song](https://archiveofourown.org/works/326317) by [roachpatrol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roachpatrol/pseuds/roachpatrol). 



> So basically the idea behind this world was no SGRUB, and the revolution led by the Summoner was stamped out so quickly that the adults are not forced to go off planet- indeed, quite a few remain to keep order (such as the Subjuggulators). All the tags and stuff because basically this is a sucky, sucky place to live. Especially if you happen to be a tiny, nubby-horned mutantblood. As for the relationships....I have no idea. My brain would not let me sleep until I started this monstrosity (I have a ridiculous wordcount now). 
> 
> Anyway, it starts out with some of the trolls already dead, and the kids are all trolls but kind of minor characters you'll have to concentrate hard on to notice. Don't worry- it gets more plot later on.

You are reclining upon your throne, your long legs spread out over one of the stone arms as you take in the sight before you. It is not often that a seadweller is found on dry land, even if it is in your territory along the coast. It is even less often when said seadweller is brought before you with a busted lip along with a rather bruised ego. If he had been any more putout, Prince Ampora would have been pouting like a small child. Unfortunately, his fears were few in number and rather dull to view, seeing as how his enormous ego prevented him from believing he could be harmed. An erroneous point of view you were somewhat tempted to challenge.  
  
“Wwhale noww,” the violetblood crossed his arms, beginning that childish pout, “to wwhat do I owwe the pleasure of bein dragged to your presence, Gam?”  
  
“You will refer to the Grand Highblood by his title or as Subjuggulator Makara,” barked the tealblood as she struck at the violet cape between two shoulder blades. Although the slender seatroll stumbled forward, he quickly regained his composure with arrogant irritation.  
  
“You wwatch wwhat you are glubbin doin, Rez,” snarled the violetblood as he bared his shark-like fangs. “The Grand Highblood’s pet or not, you’re still pushin someone higher up on the hemospectrum, landdwweller.”  
  
“Shove it, sharkpailer,” she grinned wickedly. “Even the great Prince Eridan Ampora should know that I stand for the old laws, and they make no excuses for breaking treaties.”  
  
This had an immediate effect on the seatroll, “Wwhat treaty-breakin are you glubbin on about? Free travvel is allowed through all of the lands as long as the trolls included havve peaceable intentions. Do you fuckin see me wwith an army, tealblood?”  
  
“Motherfucking army or not,” you decide to intervene upon a whim, you lilting tone bouncing righteously through the great stone hall, “you know better than to cause trouble on my motherfucking turf, brinesucker.” You have yet to move a muscle, but you can feel the tension building in the air as the seatroll realizes that you are not going to simply apologize and allow him to go on his way.  
  
“Inciting feuds between the highbloods and the lowbloods is definitely not considered peaceable, Prince Ampora,” Terezi spread her hands to either side, her blank red eyes staring straight at him. “Until you have paid for your crimes with flesh, blood, or cash, we cannot allow you to return to the waters of your beloved homeland.”  
  
“You’vve got to be shittin me,” he glubbed unhappily. “You knoww vvery wwell that I don’t have any glubbin money wwith the rebellions goin on out in the deep blue sea. All the funds havve been goin to wweaponry and feedin the soldiers that fuckin guard your coasts!”  
  
“You will motherfucking pay the fine the nice Legislacerator sets out, motherfucker,” you smile slowly. “Bodies or money or your motherfucking violet blood will be added to the motherfucking walls.” You watch his eyes skitter over your ever-evolving grand masterpiece upon the cold grey stones and his throat makes the predictable gulping motion that you have come to associate with a troll who has just now realized what exactly a Subjuggulator does.  
  
“W-wwhale, I’ll see wwhat I can do on such short notice,” he began to fuss with his sleeves in a rather distracting way. “I’ll just need to go back to our camp for a bit; it’s just shrimply a matter of goin through our wwares.”  
  
“Since I’m in such a fine motherfucking mood today, I am willing to motherfucking grant you until tomorrow at midnight to bring me something good,” you yawn involuntarily as you consider what sort of ‘wares’ he might be considering. “And I do mean something motherfucking good, kelpfarmer. If it don’t all up and exceed my expectations, I’m going to use your miraculous violet liquids to add in some nice motherfucking cityscapes over on that patch of wall there. I’m tired of the hole staring at me like a motherfucking eyesore.”  
  
Becoming increasingly flustered, he began to back out of the hall, “I’ll bring you the best glubbin tribute you’vve gotten yet; just wwait and see!”  
  
You don’t bother to wait until he is out of earshot before you let out great gales of honking laughter. Your moirail holds out only a few moments more before her maniacal cackles join in with your honks to make a miraculous harmony that reverberated off the rock walls into a cacophony of joyous noises. Life was motherfucking beautiful sometimes.

* * * * * *

When the highblood returns during your dinner, you send off all your guards except for your very own Terezi Pyrope; even in the face of the Great Honk, your moirail is all the protection you could ever need. Provided, of course, you were for some reason unable to fight yourself. For a moment you believe that the seadweller had actually come back empty-handed, snapping a bone in half to suck the marrow out as your eyes narrow. Then you spot the tiny troll huddled into itself behind him, being pulled along by a length of rope.  
  
The troll in question was a sad affair- its horns weren’t even visible at this distance, and its head only came up to the middle of Ampora’s chest. Admittedly it was cowering and might be a bit taller when standing straight, but you begin to have the suspicion that it is a child you are looking at. Then your mouth kind of does that pursing thing where it shrinks as you start to consider something distasteful; your moirail immediately paps your shoulder a few times before standing and making her graceful way around the table.  
  
“Whatever you’ve brought is already disappointing the Grand Highblood,” she sniffs the air hesitantly. “You might want to start presenting your case before I decide to cull you now just so he won’t go into a murderous rage on all of us.”  
  
“You wwon’t believve it until you’vve seen it,” a wicked smile accompanies his retort. He jerks on the rope and the troll stumbled forward into his waiting claws. A cruel twist in a curly mop of hair had the head of the mystery troll rolling backwards with a small grunt, the gray pupils revealing that it was indeed a young troll, just old enough to be on that brink of adulthood. However, there was something odd in those eyes, a sort of pinkish color flecked through it instead of the normal yellows and greens you are accustomed to seeing. Curious, you pause for a moment to call up your ability to see into the deepest, darkest fears of those around you.  
  
Much to your surprise, the young troll’s fears are not as overwhelming as you would have expected, given the circumstances. They still drown out those of Ampora and your darling Terezi, but neither of them have much room in their egos for petty fears. Unlike them, this child has nothing but fears; there are so many different ones that they are impossible to tease apart into their respective forms. He is not so much afraid of any of you as he is afraid of you discovering something that he is desperately trying to hide; what that secret could be was anyone’s guess. However, one thing becomes clear very quickly- all of those fears are nothing more than fuel for his undying rage.  
  
“Why don’t you just fucking cull me you damn douchecanoe?” the troll snarls, the voice just deep enough to identify him as a male. “I’m fucking sick and tired of getting dragged around to wherever the sunblistered bulgerot you feel like going. Is it not enough that your rusty thinkpan is so awful at making battle plans more complex than that of a wriggler that you are actually fucking losing to Gogdamn landdwellers on boats? Actually, they aren’t even big enough to be called fucking boats, now are they? You are getting your royally pompous ass handed to you by a pack of rabid lowbloods in canoes. Douchecanoes, if you like. See what I did there? I went right back to the beginning so that this would be fucking easy for your lack of intelligence and attention span to follow, you slobbering-”A harsh strike between the horns with the hilt of a bejeweled sword was enough to stun him for a moment, cutting off the amusing tirade. You have to say that you are somewhat disappointed; you would have loved to hear more of that rant just to see where it was going.  
  
“You have got to be kidding me,” Terezi pouts. “Your idea of good is some little shitstain of a wriggler that isn’t even old enough to be culled for his pathetic lack of horns?”  
  
Ampora ignores her completely to smile at you with all the charm he possesses, “May I present to you the fuckin descendent of the Signless.” You have no idea what this means, but that statement certainly has an effect on the tealblood, who immediately gasps a little.  
  
She regains her composure within the second, “You had better be able to prove such a ludicrous claim, Prince Ampora, or you will find yourself in a very dangerous situation.”  
  
“Cool your tits, Rez,” he snarks, obviously enjoying this way more than he should. “It doesn’t take all that much to prove it, really.” The ornate sword is brought down and a hand is grabbed and suddenly the fear you were sensing explodes into an overwhelming, blinding terror that makes you sit up a little straighter as you try to concentrate on what is actually going on. The boy’s hand is forced around the blade as he struggles and swears, the bright red blood welling up in the most beautiful, blasphemous beads of color.  
  
“Cherries,” your moirail sniffs the air rather hungrily. “A red that’s not even on the hemospectrum, just like the Signless. For once in your life you may actually not be trying to swindle someone, Prince Ampora.”  
  
“You wwound me, Rez,” began the seadweller.  
  
“I’d like to ‘wwound’ you,” growls the young troll.  
  
After another blow that only caused the grumbling to decrease in volume Eridan attempted to continue, “Wwhen havve I evver swwindled you, Rez? And, Gam! You asked me to bring you something special! Is this not the best you could ask for? An entirely brand new color for your wwalls, you knoww?” It is a long moment before you realize that both of them are waiting on some sort of reply from you.  
  
You grin, “I have been wanting a motherfucking sun on that wall since forever...” Your moirail immediately understands, her thoughtful smile growing as she considers what it would be like to have an entirely different color to paint with. Eridan looks somewhat relieved, as the seadweller well should, given your reputation. As for the small newcomer, he is just starting to realize what is going on and where he is; his eyes dart around the walls as his brow furrows.  
  
“I don’t give a ‘motherfucking’ shit which one of you actually does it, or whether or not you get your sick kicks by painting the damn walls with my freakish mutant blood and decorating things with my remains, but I would like to repeat myself here with a great, big, hearty FUCK YOU! And request once again that if you are going to fucking cull me that you just get it over with already! I mean, Jegus, what the Hell are you all waiting-”  
  
“No one ever motherfucking said anything about culling you, little man,” you interrupt his rant with a lethargic widening of your grin. His confusion and anger make an adorable combination that makes him look a lot younger than he probably is; if his eyebrows scrunch together any further you are pretty sure they will never separate again. You have the distinct feeling that you are going to grinning for awhile longer.  
  
“Why the everloving grubfuck not?” he spits out, glancing behind him at the seatroll who probably had been planning on culling him at some point in the near future.  
  
Honest as always, you reply, “That would be a motherfucking shame, seeing as how I’d never get any more of your wicked miracle blood.”  
  
“I’m sure we can find _something_ you can do to be useful,” adds Terezi, putting a rather unnecessary amount of innuendo on the ‘something’ in that sentence. You vaguely wonder if she fancies the kid. You would not blame her if she did; he is young, cute, and hot-headed. If you had any mind for a caliginous fling you might have fancied him yourself, but you don’t and you’d much rather simply listen to his never-ending rants and use his strangely alien blood to add to your kaleidoscope of paintings on the walls. You wonder how anyone could hate and respect someone that utterly pathetic and defensive, but your Legislacerator had always been an odd one. You refuse to admit that it would be easy to pity such a person.  
  
You can almost literally see the gears turning in his head as he considers what was meant by that comment. Two new fears spring to the foreground, temporarily ousting his main fear that his secret would be discovered: the first was an old fear, and one that you instantly recognized. It was the fear of a troll that had been used as a pail, and sees that they may be in that situation again in the future. The second fear was one you were intimately acquainted with, but you had to admit that it surprised you nonetheless. It was the fear of losing someone you were quadranted with. It took all of a moment for this to pass, the other two trolls watching his epiphany with a sort of wary caution that comes from dealing with rowdy lowbloods and desperate mutants. However, no one was ready for the young troll’s response.  
  
Kicking off from the ground and flinging his head back, he headbutted the seadweller squarely under the jaw. With Ampora’s hold on him thus weakened, he ripped himself from the clammy webbed hands and whirled around. Before anyone else could move, he threw himself onto the seatroll with so much fury that there was no doubt in your mind that this was purely platonic ‘I want to kill you and rip out your entrails’ hatred. An impossibly small grey fist drew back and popped the Prince a monocle to go with his ridiculous outfit. The mutant managed to get in five more rapid punches before Terezi hauled him off of the violetblood; the tiny troll was doing his best to escape her grasp, but she had him in a restraining hold in no time at all. Sometimes you forget what a good fighter your curvy little moirail is.  
  
“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” yelled the tiny troll. “YOU ARE FUCKING SELLING ME? WHAT WAS ALL THAT THINKPAN-MELTING TALK ABOUT CULLING ME IN FRONT OF YOUR FUCKING PRECIOUS EMPRESS, HUH? GOING BACK ON YOUR GOGDAMN WORD IS WHAT YOU’RE DOING. I WAS PROMISED ONE CULLING, YOU NOOKSTAIN, AND THAT’S WHAT I’M GOING TO FUCKING GET! I AM TIRED OF THIS BULLSHIT! I AM TIRED OF YOU AND EVERY OTHER TROLL THAT HAS EVER HAD THEIR HEAD UP THEIR WASTECHUTE!”  
  
“That wwas a stupid movve, lowwblood,” snarled the seatroll as he got back up. “You don’t givve a glub about yourself, but I’vve still got your fuckin moirail.”  
  
“WHAT ABOUT MY GOGDAMN MOIRAIL?” the mutant was practically foaming at the mouth. Your own moirail was having a hard time holding on to him, despite the obvious size difference; in fact, his thin waist was making it rather difficult for her to get the right grip. You find yourself wondering when the last time the kid had a decent meal as he continues to scream out his frustrations. “YOU FUCKING TOUCH SOLLUX AND I WILL END YOU! ACTUALLY, YOU KNOW WHAT? DO IT! I’D LIKE TO SEE HOW THE FUCKING PRINCE OF WHALERIDERS DOES AGAINST FUCKING PSIONICS! AND WHEN HE CRUSHES IN YOUR FUCKING SKULL, I HOPE TO GOG THAT HE AT LEAST BRINGS IT BACK SO WE CAN HAVE A DAMN GOOD LAUGH OVER IT!”  
  
“I think you might motherfucking want to be leaving now,” you interject calmly to the highblood. “Go to your camp and motherfucking clear out; I don’t want to be able to see your sails by the time the moon sets. You’re debt is considered paid, motherfucker.”  
  
He did not wait for a second invitation, practically tripping over his flippered feet on the way out. As soon as he was out of sight, the mutant stopped his struggles, going limp as if all the life had been sucked out of him. In this brief lull, you pause and take stock of the condition your newest tribute is in. Besides the fresh cut on his hand, there are other superficial wounds and bruises in various stages of healing, none of them looking particularly threatening on their own but adding up into a dangerous state of exhaustion for a troll. Underneath the baggy clothes that looked like they had come from a much larger troll you can tell he is unnaturally thin; the way the tealblood’s arms are looped around his waist make you think that she might snap him in half at any moment.  
  
You motion for her to bring him towards you, ignoring her pretending she can’t smell what you are doing until she complies. She stops in front of you, holding the mutant up since his limp legs are dragging on the floor. He is so far gone that he only weakly struggles as you pull him onto your lap, pushing with hands so thin that you begin to believe you could look through them if you tried hard enough. It seems as if every visible part of him has been marked; there are scars even between his fingers. You settle him between your legs and he goes very still, his mind withdrawing so suddenly in the face of his fears that it felt like the moon had ducked behind the clouds outside. He does not move when you wrap your arm around his terribly thin waist and hold him close, relishing in the contact.  
  
“When’s the last time you had a decent meal- actually, motherfucking anything to eat at all?” you ask, waving a honeyed leg of an oinkbeast practically under his nose enticingly. There is no response as he stares out blankly, as if the entire world is nothing but problems created especially for him and he is just too damn tired to try to fix anything anymore. Grunting in disapproval, you tear off a piece yourself and push it against his lips. His mouth opens with ease, taking in the food without any actual thought. As soon as it hits his tongue, however, a small groan escapes him and he devours it from your hand, tongue licking the sticky goodness from your fingers with wild abandon.  
  
Beside you Terezi makes a disgusted noise, but you simply chuckle and offer the whole leg again. He tears into it with the table manners of a wild beast, his strangely-blunt fangs snicking a little too close to your fingers at one point. You find it hard to imagine when the last time he had eaten anything was, and you do not want to consider what that meal might have been. Amazingly he is not as warm as you would have expected, being some form of mutant rustblood; he feels a good deal cooler than Terezi or, you’d wager, even yourself. You realize belatedly that he’s been shivering the entire time, although whether that is from exhaustion or a need to attempt to keep warm is something you cannot discern.  
  
“That is revolting, my lord,” the tealblood interrupts your thoughts as you turn the leg around so the boy can get to more meat. “Look at how filthy he is! And he’ll likely just spew it all back up if he hasn’t eaten in awhile.”  
  
“Fnnkk mmfff,” the kid snarls around his newest mouthful. “I’m fnnn!” He makes a grumbling sort of growl when you remove the food out of his way, but the sound dies in his throat as you replace it with a goblet of spiced wine. As small and young as he is, you doubt that he can handle much of the stuff, but there’s nothing else to drink at the table. And you might just have some ulterior motives to getting him a little tipsy. You have not yet decided what those motives might be. Okay, you really had decided that, but perhaps not the reasoning behind those motives. You were more or less acting on a whim.  
  
“Real attractive, brat,” she sneers in response as he sloshes a good few mouthfuls down his front instead of in his mouth. He growls at her and gives her the finger, showing all his white fangs still stained with the maroon wine. Seeing the life carefully brought back into him touches at your heart somewhere, but you’d be damned if you could figure out exactly where. Of course, with him moving and wiggling around between your legs, you’ve got more of a mind to be thinking about different parts of your anatomy.  
  
Your unsheathed bulge begins to press into his back through your pants, and he instantly goes quiet and still. There is a brief thought in your mind that perhaps you had read him wrong and he was not as prepared as you would have liked, but Terezi is excusing herself with a knowing smile and the back of the boy’s neck is slowly turning a unique shade of bright red. You wonder how he ever made it this far without anyone noticing that his flushed face was the wrong hue; then you remember that he probably has not had much of an occasion to blush, which makes you inexplicably sad.  
  
“You can’t buy me with food, fuckass,” he bites out the words as if they physically pain him to say. “Unless your thinkpan has rusted out from whatever is in your grog, you’ll remember that you just fucking bought me off of Ampora. Just- just do what you want already and then leave me the fuck alone. Jegus.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to leave you alone?” you breathe into his neck as you savor the smell of his bright blood beneath the grey exterior. A shudder runs through him as if you had just stabbed him with a sharp pin, and your smile grows as your fangs hover just above his skin. One of your hands steals away the goblet and places it on the table while the other reaches around to brush against the boy’s bulge. His eyes are wide gray pupils surrounded by a thin gold ring as he breathes in a stuttering gasp of air.  
  
You debate moving forward, but he is responding and pressing backwards towards you instead of trying to get away and it has been a really long time since you found yourself interested in anyone beyond just a color. You work him into a frenzy outside of his pants until he is swearing and begging and cursing; then you shuck them off with the ease of an experienced kismesis and you are somewhat concerned about how mundane this is getting to be for you. You hook out a bucket from under the table with the toe of your boot, and you can feel him going into hyperventilation just by seeing it. That is to be expected from someone like him, and you don’t let his sudden apprehension get to you.  
  
About now is when you remember what exactly is in the spiced wine, and you belatedly regret what has already been done. But it is already too late to turn back, and all you can do is wedge the bucket between his thighs as he bucks out red as bright as sin. A small part of you feels this urge to cull him, to get rid of this gaudy and unnatural color; but a larger part of you is already feeling pumped up and ready to go, wanting more and more of it until you have enough to paint the whole hall. He kind of collapses at this point, stamina nonexistent due to being dreadfully thin and exhausted and beaten. All you can do is cling onto him and hold him up and bask in his splendid wonder.  
  
He waits a good five minutes before finally speaking again, “S-so what are you waiting for?” A dry tongue darts out to lick cracked lips for no purpose at all.  
  
“I’m not motherfucking waiting on anything,” you reply. “I’m simply enjoying your motherfucking glow, brother.”  
  
He grimaces, “There is no ‘glow’ and I am not your fucking ‘brother.’ You know what I’m talking about, so don’t even go there. You jerked me off, and now I’m just sitting here waiting ever so fucking patiently for you to get your Gogdamn pail on so I can be excused from this malicious clusterfuck of a night.”  
  
“This is just me being motherfucking selfish,” you quietly inform him as you pull his pants back on and pick him up bodily as if he was nothing more than a grubloaf. He certainly doesn’t weigh any more than one, anyway. You set the bucket off to one side, not so much as a lewd instrument here as something that simply carries your miraculous paints before they become part of your mosaic upon the grey stone walls. You carry him tucked up against you like a child might carry his favorite toy, and you wonder not for the first time what the Hell is wrong with you as you carry him down cold, dark corridors.  
  
He seems to be shocked beyond belief that you place him in his own room beyond yours with a real recuperacoon and a door that leads to the shared ablution trap between your two rooms. He does not seem to realize or care that this means he effectively cannot leave his room without having to travel through the bathroom and then your own quarters. He just seems to be in awe over how big and clean everything is- a likely side effect from the drugged wine he had guzzled down like it was an elixir to immortality.  
  
Ordering him to wash up, you call some of your servants and have them bring what clothes they can find. He refuses to get undressed or do anything at all until you all clear out of the room, and you find that acceptable. You wait patiently for the boy to emerge from the door, fully clothed and a lot damn cleaner; even in clothes that are about the right size for him, he looks as if he is swimming in fabric. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember that lowbloods tend to have a slighter build, but that does not excuse this skeleton of a troll before you. Nothing could ever excuse how thin he is, and you would have some choice words for that so-called moirail of his if you ever met him.  
  
He has put on multiple layers to try and keep warm, or perhaps to look less sickly thin, but all it does is cover up most of his skin everywhere except for his hands, feet, and head. You catch yourself staring at him with a growing frown when he nervously shuffles his feet and begins a rant that begins with ‘Gogdamn insufferable prick’ and ends somewhere along the lines of ‘pedophilic drug-pusher.’ With a heavy sigh, you move over and bundle him up into your arms again, ignoring the flailing limbs and indignant swearing.  
  
“In you go, little motherfucker,” you cheerfully sing-song as you dump him unceremoniously into the recuperacoon. “You get a good day’s rest and I will see you in the evening.” His swears fall on deaf ears as you retreat to your own room, locking the door to the ablution trap just in case he gets any funny ideas. It isn’t until you are sure you are completely under control that you finish what you began in the dining area, a dented metal pail catching your own purple fluids. With a sick feeling growing in your stomach, you absent-mindedly wonder what hue your two colors would make.


	2. Karkat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Karkat's point of view! Now with 70% more self-loathing and swearing!

Although you have not slept in sopor slime this fresh and thick in sweeps, you wake up well before moonrise by bolting out of the recuperacoon and towards the door. In your sleep-addled state, you smack straight into it when it does not open. After a few tries confirms that the handle is not turning and you are locked in, you look around the room as the memories come seeping back into your mind. Right, you’re at the Grand Highblood’s fortress. Inside his actual fucking castle. Inside his own fucking private chambers. Fuck.

Taking a deep breath, you carefully take stock of your surroundings. You are in an inner room in the stone palace, no windows to climb out of or moonlight to give you a reference of time. There are some clothes in an open wardrobe, but nothing useful in there unless you want to try to smother yourself with fabrics. There is the recuperacoon, sitting there abandoned and looking so inviting with the thick green slime but also fucking useless. Other than that, there is nothing but bare grey walls. You suppose you should probably be grateful that the clown bastard had not painted the stones with the blood of his conquests, but you are finding it a little difficult to feel anything but a vague sort of despair and hatred at this point.

The only silver lining in this whole situation is probably that your moirail is not here and did not have to watch you be drugged and then pailed like some sort of needy whore. Or that he is not here period, because who knows what the fuck they would have done with someone with a regular blood color like mustard yellow. Or what he would have done if he had met them. Yeah, overall a very good thing Sollux was not here. Then why did you miss him so much that it literally hurt to think about him?

Sighing and banging your head against the door in frustration, you wonder if he is currently kicking highblood ass with his psychic powers. Or if he was in some sort of trouble, like his giant ego normally gets him into. Or what he thought about that finned fucker coming back to camp without you in tow. Or if said finned fucker told him that you had been culled or sold or escaped- the problem with you was that there were always so many or’s. Everything was always a huge roundabout circle in your head and you are always so worn down and tired and trodden on that you can’t help it. There are so many damn things to be afraid of in this crapsack world called Alternia.

Suddenly there is a noise and your head keeps falling forward instead of hitting the door, until it smacks into something a little more giving. Your first reaction is to back away as quickly as possible, but large black hands clamp down on your shoulders. Looking up with a cloying sort of dread, you see purple eyes hazy with sleep and only half-opened as they peer down at you from a disgruntled face, white makeup smeared so he hardly looks recognizable as a subjuggulator. You also become very much so aware that the Grand Highblood apparently sleeps in the nude. The curvy-horned troll yawns pointedly and you find yourself stuttering out something between an apology and a threat to make him release you. A deep rumbling growl silences you and you remember for the first time how intimidating it is to be around fully-grown adult trolls; your head probably doesn’t even come up to the middle of the insanely-tall juggalo’s stomach. The purple slashes just above your eye level keep drawing your gaze; vestigial gill slits are something you have never seen before.

“Motherfucking annoying,” he grumbles lowly, “waking a motherfucker up in the middle of the motherfucking day. Come on, little motherfucker. Honk!” He picks you up with one arm around your waist and he tucks you up under his arm like some sort of package. Walking past the ablution trap, he takes you straight to his own recuperacoon and just sort of gets in with you still crammed under his armpit.

Although you struggle and protest, you know better than to think for even one second that you are going to have any say in what is going on. Not only does the man outsize and outweigh you, but you are still unarmed and sore and tired. So when he settles in and tucks you up against his chest so that your head is under his chin you eventually stop trying to escape his crushing bear hug. And you refuse to admit that you eventually relax for any other reason than it was finally a little bit warmer with him there. The purpleblood was nowhere near as warm as Sollux, but it was another person and this was not exactly the most threatening situation you’ve been in, let alone the most compromising.

It takes some time before you realize that he is stroking your hair, a thrumming sort of vibration coming from his chest and- Holy shit that’s purring! Lord Subjuggulator Makara, the fucking Grand Highblood that paints his walls with the blood of his enemies, is holding you as he goes to sleep and he is purring! You did not even know that highbloods could make that sort of noise. Or that anyone would ever make it at you. Panicking for a moment, you attempt to disentangle yourself from his grasp but all you end up doing is getting a couple mouthfuls of sopor and the highblood’s hold to tighten.

You will yourself to relax so you can breathe again. It takes some time, but eventually you are just being limply held against him like a ragdoll. He stopped petting your head at some point, but the purring has only diminished in volume instead of disappearing completely. Those few mouthfuls of sopor are already starting to get to you at that point, and you are feeling pretty good and a little bit boneless. You know you are going to hate yourself in the morning, but there seems to be no point in doing anything else now except relaxing and letting your worries melt away. Within minutes you are falling asleep again.

* * * * * *

“Good morning, my sleepy lord!” a grating voice gleefully sings off-key. “Rise and shine, darling. We have business to attend to and the green moon is already- oh. Oh! Well what have we here?”

You force your gummed-up eyes to open, immediately wishing you hadn’t. The stab of light from even the torches she had lighted on the wall was enough to send lances of pain through your thinkpan. You feel movement around you and that’s when you remember where you are and who you are with. Of course, the instant you go to move away, you also realize that you had been the one clinging onto the highblood; his arms were draped over the edge of the recuperacoon. Just fucking great.

“Are you going to fetch my motherfucking clothes, dearest, or are you going to make me go get them myself?” laughs the Subjuggulator.

“Why can’t he be your go-for?” a hand suddenly grabs you by the back of your shirt collar and lifts you out of the recuperacoon. Grumbling and thrashing, you are dumped onto the ground in a way that could have been an accident but obviously was not. Rubbing the slime and grit out of your eyes, you look up to see the tealblood stooped over you, her blank crimson eyes locked onto yours. You briefly wonder how she does that when she is blind, and then you quickly decide that you don’t care- you just want her to stop. Finally starting to wake up and feeling a lot less than okay since you are covered in drying slime and its still squelching out of your clothes and you’ll have to change again, you are in no mood for any of this woman’s shenanigans. You bare your fangs at her, but she simply laughs in your face.

“I believe our little friend here is not a morning person, Teresis,” there is a sloshing sound and you glance over- Gogdamn that man! What is with him and running around everywhere in nothing but his skin? You are going to have a bloodpusher attack one of these nights! You can hear him retreating to go get washed up and dressed for the day, but you refuse to look anywhere in his general direction. The Legislacerator is cackling as your face begins to burn, and you really want nothing more than to find a hole to crawl into and die.

“So, how did you ever make it this far, Cherry?” she giggles like a madwoman. “Surely the drones would have found you out by now. You’re what, six sweeps?”

“Eight and a half,” you snarl out, somewhat indignant. “Yes, my mutation stunts my growth. My lusus once put me too damn close to the fire when I was wet and I shrunk like a woolbeast sweater. Every time I swear I lose some growth from my horns and every time I masturbate I lose some height overall, guess what I do more?

“I know I’m fucking short, okay? And I have the nubbiest horns that ever were placed on a troll for some sort of punishment from a previous life. And guess what else, I’ve heard all of the fucking jokes you can possibly think of and quite a few you can’t. All of the jokes. All of them. So just shove it up your wastechute.”

“Wow, I’ve known some trolls with issues in the past, but I think your short-guy complex takes the cake,” she simply grins like a shark. “I was more referring to your eyes.”

“What?” you frown as she leans in even more. “Oh. Well they’re fucking grey, aren’t they? Pretty sure someone would have mentioned it if they-WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU CRAZY BITCH?” You have a hand clapped over your stinging eye and you feel violated in a way that you have not experienced in whole perigrees.

She giggles as she slurps in her tongue, “I was just getting a taste. You’re too modest when you call them grey. They are definitely getting little flecks of cherry flavor in there.” When she smooshes your cheeks together, you slash out with claws without thinking; no one ever really touches you anymore unless they are trying to hurt you.

“OH THANK YOU GOG FOR FLAVORING MY FUCKING EYEBALL ESPECIALLY SO SOME CRAZY BLIND WOMAN CAN LICK IT LIKE IT IS SOME KIND OF SUGARED FRUIT OR SOMETHING! I MUST PROSTRATE MYSELF BEFORE YOU, OH JEGUS, FOR ALLOWING THIS TO TRANSPIRE! THERE IS NOTHING MORE IN THIS ASSBACKWARDS WORLD I WANTED MORE THAN SOME RANDOM TROLL TO PUSH HER NASTY TONGUE INTO SOMEWHERE IT HAS NO BUSINESS BEING, AS IF MY LIFE ISN’T FUCKED UP ENOUGH ALREADY! NOOKSNIFFING HELLFIRES, WHY DON’T YOU GUYS JUST CULL ME AND PREVENT ANY MORE STUPIDITY FROM-” you cut off when you are picked up from the ground and carted off to the ablution trap by the highblood.

“Alright there, motherfucker,” he dumps you into the already-filled trap with a slight frown, “I think it’s high time you calmed your shit down. You DO NOT MOTHERFUCKING TOUCH MY MOIRAIL, you understand?”  
“But sh-she…” you swallow as he glares down at you, your endless supply of rage somehow dried up for the moment.

“I’ve got motherfucking business to attend to,” he almost growls at you, “and when I get back, you’d better have gotten your horns screwed on right, little motherfucker.” He leaves while you are still going into shock over his mood whiplash, and you hear him slam and lock the door when he leaves. You sink into the tub, pressing your hands into your face; it is not until then that you see the teal dripping from three of your claws. No matter what situation you are in, you somehow always manage to make it worse. And the most depressing aspect is you never seem to really understand how you do it.

* * * * * *

The highblood does not return until the sun is on its way to rising. He brings you a platter of food and sets it down without saying a word, leaving immediately and locking the door behind him. You blink after the whirlwind of purple and black, velvet and silk. Two nights ago you would not have been able to believe that things could get worse, but past you is such a fucking moron sometimes. Everything can always get worse; you know this from experience.

As for being banished to your room, you have no real opinion on it yet. You line up the pros and cons inside your head like so many little eating utensils on the table of a highblood lord or someone else important. On the pro side you have the fact that the Subjuggulator might just leave you alone and you won’t have to worry about any more drugged wine or sopor overdoses. On the con side you have the fact you will likely go insane if you have to spend longer than a couple weeks in here with out any one to interact with.

It is about three more nights, or at least three more plates of food later, before you get a rather unexpected visitor. When the tealblood entered the room with a witty one-liner and a slightly demented smile, she was probably not expecting to have a pint-sized troll tackle-hug her and cling on like she was a raft and you were in the middle of the ocean. It takes all of about four seconds for her resolve to crumble and she hugs you back. You do not cry, you at least have that little shred of dignity left, but you shake like a leaf in a storm and she pats your back and tells you that everything is going to be alright. And you believe her.

When she takes you by the hand and leads you through winding passages, you quicken your step to keep up with her longer stride instead of yelling at her to slow. Although the marks have nearly already disappeared from her face, you still feel the residual guilt. Down in one of the smaller rooms you learn that it has been a lot longer than three nights since your ‘solitary confinement.’ You’ve been without any real troll contact for a little over a week, disregarding the steadily more pissed-off juggalo that has been your warden. When you express concern that he will take his anger out on her, she throws her head back and cackles gleefully.

“Me? I’ll be fine, little man,” she wipes a teal-tinged tear from the corner of a red eye. “I’m his moirail, you dolt. It’s you I’ve got to look out for…you know, I understand if you want your full name to remain a mystery to protect anyone you’ve had contact with, but is there not anything I can call you besides ‘motherfucker’ or ‘little man’?”

You blink a few times, “People I’ve…I think you’ve gotten me confused with someone people might actually give a flying fuck about. Soll-er, my moirail was the only one who I ever- who ever got close, you know? And he probably only did that because he was a mutant too.”

She opens her mouth but you’re already holding up a hand to halt her, “Nothing really as exciting as me, I guess. He’s just got an extra fucking set of horns and his psionics. Actually, I am pretty pissed he apparently got my horns somewhere in the slurry we sprung from, so anyway my name is Karkat Vantas.”

“Karkat?” she tests out the sound, mulling it over in her mouth. “I like it! So what was your lusus like, Karkat? Or did you even have one?”

You start horribly at that, “Wh-what?”

She frowns, “Well, your mutant blood…”

“Oh.” That’s right. There was that. “No, I did have one. Poor guy got injured by another lusus in a scuffle and then all Hell broke loose. You’d be fucking amazed what seeing a blood mutation does to young trolls; they were in a culling mood in seconds. Probably the fastest fucking massacre that ever occurred in the deep inlands.”

“I can see how that would be hard,” she nodded, dare you notice it, sympathetically. “How old were you? Gamzee lost his when he was about your age…”

“Gamzee?” you find yourself suddenly at a loss.

“You do realize that Lord Makara has a given name, right?” she shoves at your shoulder a little roughly to make up for the display of pity.

“Jegus, no!” you grimace. “I assumed he came straight from the pits of Hell fully formed or some shit. Imagining him as a little wriggler with a lusus…” You shudder, “Nope. Can’t do it. No way, no how. Anyway, I guess I was about four? Sollux had just found me a little before that, so I ended up getting raised with him by his freaky Biclopsdad. Oh, Gog! I wonder how the poor fucker went; there’s no way they left him alive when they raided our hive.”

“Ampora took you straight from your hive in the deep inlands?” she leaned forward, suddenly interested in every word you are saying.

“No, we had moved into the marshes. Less trolls there. Of course, that’s because they aren’t all wrigglers with rot in their thinkpans. Worst place to try to live ever; it’s more like the place where you try to survive where every living and nonliving thing in the environment tries to come up with more creative ways to kill you.”

“Lovely. So, he was in the marshes.”

“Yeah, something about getting lost. Never trust a fish to find anything on dry land. Well, dry-ish. Okay, you know what? It was pretty fucking wet out there. He could have probably opened up a hotel and started a vacation site for Gogdamn seatrolls or something.”

“Karkat,” she groans. “Try to focus here! I need to know if there is anything the lovely seaprince is up to on our turf, so if there was anything pertinent you could add?”

“He was looking for his kismesis, I think,” you try your best to remember if you had ever heard anything else. “Some sort of pirate blueblood that was making his life Hell; that was all he would ever fucking talk about! I’ve heard some whiners out there, but he takes the prize.”

“That would be Serket,” snarled the tealblood. “I know that bitch; I hope he found her and gave her a good stabbing.”

“Unfortunately, no. We were heading back for more supplies and to contact the Empress. Well, they were going to do all that; I was going to be fucking culled like I should have been when I was just a wriggler.”

“Perhaps,” she nods thoughtfully, “but then Gamzee would never had your delectable red to paint with. And I rather like the changes he’s made to the walls.” You open your mouth with a smartass retort and the close it with a snap. There is something wrong with what she just said.

Your eyes wide, you carefully enunciate, “When the fuck did he ever get any of my blood to paint his damn pictures?”

She looks at you as if you are the saddest excuse of a troll that ever claimed to have a thinkpan, “He doesn’t just use blood, little Karkles.” It takes a moment for that to sink in, and then you realize what exactly she is implying.

“Oh Gog!” you gasp. “Oh, fuck no! Why would he-? Of all the-! Blood at least makes some damn sense! The whole putting the fear into your enemies thing and all, but… ugh! Okay, that’s it! I changed my mind! I am going to go crawl back into that Gogdamn room and find a corner to go die in!”

As you turn to flee, she grabs your wrist, “Karkles, don’t be such a wriggler. Come on; I’ll show you what he’s done.”

“What makes you think I’d want to see that?” you voice goes up in pitch as she drags you along. One of these perigrees you are going to have your growth spurt and then people are going to find it a lot harder to cart you around everywhere. Until then, however, your feet are skidding along the stone floor as she picks up speed.

“Here, look,” she stops in front of a random room, everything inside covered in thick layers of dust. There are tracks in the thick layer of grime on the floor leading to the far wall; what you see there knocks the wind out of you a little. The fantastic and whimsical landscapes in the Great Hall are nothing like these paintings; they are more like portraits painstakingly created to look as lifelike as possible. The one immediately before you is what captured your attention, because for a moment you thought you were looking at Terezi’s younger sister.

Her rounded cheeks were the untarnished grey of the walls, painstakingly scrubbed until they were a uniform shade throughout. Her raven dark hair had been added in charcoal and soot, her own teal blood lightly added to her skin to give the painting an ominously lifelike quality. Chips of bone scrubbed white were glued on to make her sharp fangs, and her horns were as vivid and bright as the real thing standing next to you. But what had caused your jaw to drop was the fact that her eyes had been painted over a dramatic crimson color that you were all too familiar with. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you feel a small twinge of sadness that the blind tealblood would never be able to view her likeness upon the wall.

“Speechless?” she cackles. “He is quite the artist, isn’t he? Because he uses such pure colors, I can hardly smell the difference between his portraits and the person.” She rambles on, but you are ignoring her in favor of checking out the other troll painted next to the young and cocky Legislacerator. From the brownish-orange tinge to his cheeks you can discern he was a young lowblood with enormous bullhorns; the things were so ridiculous that you find yourself wondering why the hell it was not possible to do some sort of horn transplant so you could not get all prickly from careless comments for once in your life. Then again, he probably got teased for them being so ludicrously huge, so the world probably evened out in the end.

Somehow you find yourself drawn to that picture, looking into his copper-colored eyes and wondering what this troll was like. Everything from the shy smile to the slightly-downcast eyes to the flushing cheeks told you that this troll was one of those guys that were unsure and a little too sweet. Rare traits in all of trollkind, they did not bode well for anyone with blood as low as his; you briefly wonder if you will meet him and how you two will get along. You think your cursing and yelling would probably terrify him, and that is too bad because you also think you might like to get to know the guy. It would be nice to have someone around that you were not completely and utterly terrified of.

“That’s Tavros Nitram,” Terezi is suddenly by your side, a sad small smile on her black lips. “He was Gamzee’s matesprit.” You feel like the floor has been knocked out from under you, but you are not quite sure why. It probably had to do with the fact that the fucking Grand Highblood himself had both of his red quadrants filled. Or he had had them filled.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘was’?” your thinkpan finally catches up and you jerk your gaze away from the painting to look at the tealblood. “Did he get culled or something?”

“He was a lowblood, you idiot,” she rolls her red eyes. “He and Gamzee were from the same pupation, but he ended up dying a few sweeps back. Curse of the lowbloods, especially those with psychic powers, is that their lifespans are very, very short.” Something about that last statement was said in a way to get a rise out of you, but the Legislacerator should know better than to push those buttons with you.

You sigh, “Honestly, I’m surprised I made it this far without being culled. I’ve never given much thought to dying of old age.”

“Another curse of the lowbloods,” she shrugs. “Unfortunately, the curse of my moirail is he always goes red for those who he’ll outlive.” Again, there was that pointed barb sticking out of the sentence like a fishing hook.

You decide to bite, “Well, he’s still damn well got you, doesn’t he? I mean, you don’t look anywhere near old enough to start worrying about a dirtnap from wrinkles or anything.”

“I was talking about you, Sir Cherry,” she snaps. “Here my darling moirail is again, getting all flushed for the lowblood mutant that has not got a chance in the world. And when you die, I’ll have to pick up all the pieces again, you fucking moron!”

The room feels like it is spinning as you take a step backwards, “Wh-what the Hell is coming out of your windflap? He can’t be flushed for me! He’s hasn’t even spoken a single word to me; not a single syllable since past-me did whatever the Hell it was that pissed him off! That is clearly edging into platonic hatred territory by way of fucking indifference and being a cold-blooded bastard.”

“Shut up for a minute!” she smacks the back of your head. “Just shut up and listen to me! I said that he was starting to feel flushed, not that he was ready to put a ring on your finger, you nubby-horned moron! And the reason he’s avoiding you is because he feels like he already screwed up any chance he might have had when you freaked out the morning after he pailed you- I said shut it!- and you are cowering behind your flippant attitude about the whole ordeal! So you’ve been abused in the past, who hasn’t?

“And then there is the added stress that he’s already had a matesprit, and feeling anything towards you at all is like a betrayal to dear Tavros. So with all that, he’s probably trying to edge you into a black romance, but he’s always been so fucking bad at those. He always just ends up snapping and killing his possible kismesis. But he wants you so bad, he’s trying to get you to hate him. Unplatonically, you dolt!”

You find yourself gaping into her creepy crimson eyes as she looms over you, “But- I mean, I don’t…I don’t hate him. He’s pretty much scaring the shit out of me every time he stomps in and bangs things around like a fucking tornado, but I don’t hate him.”

“Well if you can’t find it in you to pity him, he’s going to keep trying to make you hate him,” she sighs as she leans back to stop invading your personal space. “And it would be a damn shame for him to snap your neck, and not just because I don’t want to have to comfort his sobbing ass afterwards. You’re a good kid, Karkles.”

“Karkat,” you absentmindedly correct her. “And…Jegus! How do you pity someone like the fucking _Grand Highblood_? All I know about him comes from the stories they tell little grubs to get them to behave! And also…Fuck! I never thought- I mean, I never really considered even having a concupiscent quadrant! Who would want to risk getting their fucking ass culled for a guttersnipe like me?”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” she grins wickedly.


	3. Gamzee

When you go to take the little motherfucker his dinner, you find yourself standing in front of a door left slightly ajar with a mouth that is also slightly ajar. Just to be sure, you glance into the recuperacoon and wardrobe, but somehow they are both empty. You know you shut and locked that door the last time you brought him food, and you’ll be damned if anyone besides you and your moirail even have a key to that door. Eyes narrowing with anger, you check your pocket and find your own key there, leaving only one other option.

Terezi Pyrope. Your moirail, deadly Legislacerator, blind tealblood, and motherfucking traitorous bitch. You slam the door and stomp down the halls, bound and determined that you will seek them out and dole punishment on somebody for this grievous lack of respect. Even though you had never given any explicit orders, it was pretty obvious that you wanted the damn prisoner to remain confined to his room indefinitely. That the betrayal came from your own moirail just made it cut all the deeper.

It is very nearly dawn by the time you find them huddled together, as thick as thieves. They are in the corner of the Great Hall, standing right up against the wall as if examining some of your landscapes. But that can’t be right, you think as you approach them silently, because you have not painted anything in that particular spot yet. You know the tealblood can hear you at this point, but she is too busy leaning over the boy and talking in his ear to bother with acknowledging your presence. You can practically taste the rage building up inside you.

Then the boy looks over his shoulder at you, his face splattered with all sorts of different hues and you feel your heart skip a beat when you realize his eyes are widening in apprehension when they had been merrily twinkling. You can feel the fear beginning to rush out of the small troll and you watch him practically wilt before your eyes. Something about that makes you want to die, but you squash that part of you until it can no longer be heard.

“Gamzee, come see what Karkat did!” you moirail calls out joyfully, feigning ignorance to the tense situation. Your rage already melted away with that pitiful look on the boy’s face, you find yourself wondering when they had been introduced when you approach and peer over the boy’s head to take a look.

What you see makes you pause and suck in a deep breath of air. Filling in an area next to a rather decidedly-yellow crop field was the start of some marshlands, the dark greens and browns tinted with charcoal until it looked as if you could reach your hand right in there and try your luck at catching something in the dark waters. Decaying logs and windswept trees were the base upon which foul things grew, diseased-looking mushrooms and wiry mosses and vines that looked as if they could crawl and move on their own. It was still a little crude in execution, but it called to a deep, dark place in your soul as if it knew it had a claim to it.

“Well?” a pointed elbow jabs into your side. “What do you think, darling?” You look over at your moirail before glancing down to see a pair of anxious grey eyes cautiously observing your face, the flecks of pink within them looking like pearls in the soft light.

“I think it looks motherfucking amazing,” you smile slowly. “Where did you learn to paint like that, little brother?”

His face is beginning to get the slightest hint of red, “Jegus, uh, I don’t know. I’ve just always been really good at remembering places; it’s like I can see fucking pictures of them in my head.” He turns back to his artwork and points to a dark sliver of a crevice underneath some thorny bushes, “This was the entrance to our Gogawful underground hive. And this,” he points off to one side, where a tree twists its branches as if begging for someone to come and finally cull it so it can have some peace, “is where we would sit and fish for things that hopefully weren’t big enough to try and fucking eat us. And that,” he points off to another area that was filled with what looked like mushrooms that were glowing blue, “leads off into the old culling grounds, but they had been abandoned since like before even you motherfuckers were born.”

Terezi gives a sort of indignant snort at this and smacks his arm, but the boy just kind of ignores her, still on his creative high and winding down enough for his fears to slip away. He tells you both about the mushroom fields, the crazy plant life that tried to use trolls as fertilizer, how cramped and dingy their makeshift hive had been, the awkwardness of a bipolar lusus trying to raise two trolls at once, and the monsters that lived in the water. That last one dredged up a deep sort of ingrained terror in him, but you figure there was plenty of reason to be afraid of the water when it was always trying to kill you. Ignoring the ocean full of seatrolls and horrors, even a stream could be a host of all sorts of awful creatures, especially ones that delighted in taking landdwellers below the surface to drown them.

Eventually you stop him when his voice begins to crack, taking the brushes and palette from his small hands and steering him back towards your quarters. When he stumbles you simply scoop him up and carry him the rest of the way, his plaintive moaning about not being a grub falling on deaf ears. And when you decide to Hell with it and bundle him into your recuperacoon with you, he does not really complain as much as you think is normal for him. You clutch him to you, both of you fully-clothed and exhausted, as the sun begins its downwards descent outside. He fits so neatly under your chin that you expect him to have been made to do so, despite the fact you’ve had your one true love, your matesprit, already come and go from your life.

Stroking his soft hair, you indulge yourself for a moment about what it would be like to have the little firecracker as your matesprit. Loud, obnoxious, opinionated, and tactless- he was nothing like your sweet, gentle Tavros. And yet, his angry and defensive posture, callous talk, and suspicious attitude dropped so readily to reveal the thoughtful and slightly homesick artist underneath. At times it was so easy to forget that you were dealing with a lost troll, just barely old enough to not be called a child. You do not care to imagine all the wretched things he has seen and horrid places he has been that he will never be able to get out of his mind’s eye, but his way of dealing with the world was to wrap himself up in so many layers of fear and anger and clothes and hurt that he became more mask than troll.

Yet here he was, a soft smile beginning to tug at his lips as you lull him to sleep with your gentle caresses. Before today, smiling was not a thing you would have guessed the boy would have been able to do, let alone when around you. Planting a kiss between two rounded horns, you vow to yourself that you will do your best to keep that smile on his face. As you finally follow him to the land of dreams, you could have sworn you heard someone softly purring nearby.

* * * * * *

This time when you wake up, the little bugger is already washed and dressed and groggily trying to wipe up bits of splattered sopor from the floor. You yawn and stretch, but he seems to be showing no signs of absconding for the moment. When you lift yourself out of the recuperacoon, he does show a flicker of uncertainty, but he holds his ground nonetheless. If there is one thing you can say about the kid, it’s that he has a lot of spunk.

He clears his throat, “Guess you didn’t feel up to pailing me when my fucking guard was down, then? If I am not your new little sex toy, what exactly is my purpose here? We both know that I’m not handsome enough to be eye-candy, bulgemuncher. And it’s not like I have any marketable skills either, but I’m tired of just fucking sitting around in an empty room all the time, staring at the wall. You sure know how to make a troll feel so Gogdamn useful around here.” Maybe too much spunk at times.

“Could you save the rest of your motherfucking rant until I’ve all up and gotten my clean on?” you lean over and peck him on the cheek. “We can talk about pailing later, if you still have a mind to. Or we can motherfucking figure out something for you to do that is actually useful and maybe even something you’d motherfucking enjoy doing.”

He eyes you warily, “Yeah, sure. We can totally ‘motherfucking’ do that.” The way he puts an emphasis on mimicking your speech pattern is just too adorable, so you abscond to the ablution trap before you do anything stupid. After a long soak and a fresh set of clothes, you feel more than ready to take on the night. Unfortunately, Karkat is no longer waiting by your recuperacoon. You check his own quarters just to be sure, even though he would have had to walk right by you to get to them; he is not there either. Frowning at the door, you wonder what happened to that premonition that you would spend most of your time smiling.

You find the boy setting up breakfast with your moirail, grumpily setting plates on the long table and bickering with the tealblood as she fusses over their placement. You spot a few of the servants hovering in the background, obviously torn between helping do their chores and staying out of the Legislacerator’s way. Everyone in your employment had a healthy respect for the blind troll’s cane sword, even if she kept it out of sight most of the time. Reassured that at least the young troll was here and trying to make himself feel useful, you amble over to your place at the head of the table and sprawl onto your chair; it is not as comfortable as your stone throne, but it has seen some good times nonetheless. You try really hard not to remember what the last of those good times were when you glance over at the mutant.

As soon as you take your place, the guards begin to appear from their respective quarters and find their customary places at the long table. Terezi takes the second seat to your right, as always, but Karkat’s anxiety seems to be steadily building with every troll that enters the hall. When the boy shuffles over towards you uncertainly, you grab him by the scruff of his neck and haul him into the seat between the two of you, one that normally remains empty due to your intimidating natures. For a moment he looks as if he is ready to start up one of his rambling outbursts, but then the food arrives and he is so completely distracted that you have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing at him and causing another rant.

His table manners are somewhat improved, especially with your lovely moirail smacking him every so often when he gets out of hand. Unabashed by these admonishments, he usually responds by baring his teeth or rolling his eyes, too busy trying to fill his stomach to bother with any verbal discourse. Already he is beginning to look like he might be able to put some flesh on his bones, which is a good deal better than the appearance that a stiff breeze might simply blow him into nothingness like tendrils of smoke. You note with a tinge of guilt that he is studiously avoiding drinking anything, abjuring every goblet your moirail pushes his way.

When you catch a few of the servants shooting him nosy and somewhat snooty glances, one glare sends them scurrying to attend to their duties. You had never mentioned anything about the new addition to the others, but that was nothing unusual for you. Somehow you manage to keep your claws to yourself throughout the meal and he manages to get into a scuffle with one of your guards as the hall was clearing. The fact he was able to give as good as he received amused you to no end, smirking even as you apply a plaster to his broken nose.

“Tch!” Terezi scoffs at the ceruleanblood as she bandages his gouged cheek. “Losing to a scrawny mutant! What kind of fighter are you, Blueberry?”

“It was most definitely a draw!” was the spluttered reply.

“Oh, really?” the boy licks his fangs, probing a loose one to check the amount of damage done. “Then why don’t you come over here and finish what you fucking started, blueblood? I’m ready to dance whenever you are, Twinkletoes. I am not ‘an adorable, pint-sized firecracker’ or ‘a rowdy little spitstorm of rage’ you twit!”

“Enough,” you pap him on the back of the head. “I believe you have made your motherfucking point, brother, even if I do agree with the motherfucking blueblood.”

His mouth opens and closes a few times, a look of extreme frustration and indignant fury on his face. In the end he throws his hands into the air with an exclamation about the direct relationship on amount of stupidity to position on the hemospectrum. You take that as a surrender of some sort and dismiss the guard from your presence. Taking the hint, he gathers up what is left of his pride and limps from hall without a single smartass remark. You just know you are going to have to be on the lookout for revenge pranks for the next few days.

“Gamzee, you can’t just let them get away with fighting in the hall with nothing more than a slap to the head,” whined the tealblood. “We have to uphold the rules of the house or none of them with ever listen!”

“Shoosh there, little sister,” you pat her head softly. “It’s his first motherfucking day as an actual member of the household, after all; we can allow for some leniency.” You glance over at the nubby-horned troll sulking nearby, “There won’t be any more motherfucking brawls in the hall, now will there little man?”

“Fine!” he seems to chew on the word on its way out. “Any more fucking rules I should know about, while you’re at it? Maybe you’d like to outlaw the damn way trolls breathe air, because that is just about as natural as not fighting.”

“Trolls get along just fine when they have motherfucking work to keep them busy,” you respond. “Everyone here has a motherfucking job to do and they get it done, even if they motherfucking have to work together. Got it, little brother?”

“I am not that Gogdamn little!” he frowns. “And yeah, sure. Whatever floats your water-riding device, assmunch. But what work exactly are you talking about here? Don’t you Subjuggulators just cull trolls and shit?”

“We do a lot more than that, motherfucker!” you shake your head.

“Lord Makara is the head of most of the coastlands,” explains the tealblood. “As the highblood, he is in charge of keeping order. There are all sorts of jobs that have to be done for this to work smoothly. For example, I take care of most of the legal matters. Most of the guards are physical enforcement agents, but we have quite a few networks of spies as well.”

“I’m too small to be any help as a nooksniffing guard, and getting to be too conspicuous to be any sort of bulgepetting spook. So basically I’m useless,” spat the boy. “Motherfucking brilliant. Guess I’m either back in that room or a fucking indentured servant, eh?”

“I have a better use for you,” you grin down at him. The look on his face is a mixture of worry and incredulous disbelief as you push him down into his chair. Briefly taking Terezi aside to describe exactly what you want her to fetch, you return to your own chair. Karkat’s expression is slowly evolving into his carefully guarded mask of indifferent apathy, but that just won’t do.

You lean in and smirk as you ruffle his hair, basking in the warmth of his rapidly coloring cheeks, “Let us just talk for a motherfucking moment, brother.” You lean back, all serious business for once, “I’ve been all up and wondering about your painting.”

“What about it?” his reply is no gruffer than usual but his aura reveals he is a bit uneasy about this line of conversation.

“You said you could see pictures in your head,” you press onward. “What I want to motherfucking know is how accurate those miracle pictures are. What I mean is, is it like they are really motherfucking there?”

He frowns, “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, it’s just like I’m looking at it. I’m not fucking crazy, though. I know there’s really nothing there-”

“I’m not worried about your motherfucking think pan,” you let out a short laugh, “at least not that way. What I’m trying to get at is things like motherfucking distance and size.”

“Well, of course. What kind of Gogdamn troll would I be if I didn’t even know my own hivelands? It takes five paces from the water’s edge to get to our hive’s entrance. Four diagonally to get to the fishing tree, and twenty-three to the path that leads to the culling grounds,” his eyes have begun to cloud, looking far away at something that wasn’t there. “Another hundred and eighteen to get to the edge of the field. There’s a line of posts in the middle, an old gallows’ stand crumbling away. They are forty paces from every side and the posts are double Biclopsdad’s height.

“We measured them once, but Sollux started crying and moaning about the voices. His face is all scrunched up, like not being able to see will somehow stop the noises- he’s a royal moron sometimes, but he’s my moirail. He’s in pain; you can see it all over his face. He’s in a lot of pain and that’s my moirail! My moirail! And he wants it to stop but I can’t make it stop. I can’t make the voices go away. I can’t do it. I don’t know how. But he’s crying and begging and screaming and freaking Biclopsdad out-”

“That motherfucking answers my question, little man,” you shoosh him, pulling the small troll into your lap for a hug. He is stone cold and shivering, those strangely-flecked eyes staring off somewhere over your shoulder as you try to ground him. Continuing to ramble on as if incapable of stopping, he tells you more and more numbers and statistics and things he cannot unsee no matter how badly he wants to. He pines for his moirail, fingers listlessly clutching and unclutching the air as he talks about all the times he was unable to help or he wasn’t good enough. All you can do is hold him and shoosh him, every now and then interjecting that he was motherfucking wrong.

Beginning to calm, he takes a few shuddering breaths and starts to grumble about being crushed by your ‘excessive amount of vomit-inducing cuddles,’ but you still refuse to let go. You wait until the shakes stop and the shame-driven tension and anger come and go, refusing to let go or loosen your hold. When he finally gives up and relaxes, you follow suit and wait for him to spring free. Instead, he just shifts to make himself more comfortable, seeming to accept that he was trapped for the moment.

That moment apparently ended as soon as your own moirail was back within sight, the nubby-horned troll slipping back to his own chair quietly. Whether Terezi knew what had happened or not, she opened up with one of her sarcastic remarks before beginning to lay out all of the supplies on the cleared corner of the table. You watch the boy’s eyes as rolls of parchment and inkwells and quills are laid out before him in little bundles, the strange metal instruments you never really quite knew what to do with going off to the side. It is not until she pulls out a rather old piece of leather and begins to unroll it that he seems to get interested.

“What’s this foul-smelling piece of shit supposed to be?” he leans forward, crinkling his nose as if the lusus hide really did reek.

“A map, dumbass,” she replied cheekily. “You do know what that is, right? A drawing that shows where things are at?” You gently pap them both upside the head to keep anything from getting out of hand.

“Okay,” he grumbles, “but what the Hell do you want me to do with it?”

“That one? Nothing at all, motherfucker,” you reply. “That is the most outdated motherfucking thing that ever existed; it still has the motherfucking inlands as fields for crops instead of motherfucking jungle. And that’s the exact motherfucking problem I want you to fix; I want you to make me some new motherfucking maps.”

“Wait, what?” he gapes a bit. “Are you fucking serious? But I don’t know the first damn thing about making maps!”

“Cartography,” you correct with a smirk.

“Okay, if I wanted to sound like a noble with a hand down my pants I’d fucking ask you what the fancy highblood words for things were. What I’m saying is how am I supposed to Gogdamn go about making these maps?”

“You’ve already got the most motherfucking important part down, brother. You’ve got a good memory of where things are at- probably the motherfucking best I’ve ever seen. And it’s not that motherfucking hard; Rez and I will teach you some of the basics. Just think of it like working on one of your motherfucking miracle paintings.”

He pauses for a moment, as if he’s not sure if you are making some kind of joke that he just doesn’t quite understand yet, “Sure. I guess I can damn well learn. I mean, Jegus Christ, how hard could it be? But what in the Hell are you wanting me to make maps of, nookstain?”

“Of everything,” you smile wickedly. “I want you to make maps of motherfucking everything, motherfucker.”

* * * * * *

It takes the better part of a whole perigree before you and your moirail have managed to drill the basics into Karkat’s head; several times you wonder if you should even bother with all of this, but you always stuck through. You are amazed to discover he is barely literate, but his sharp tongue spends the rest of the week reminding you that there was not much call for reading when you lived in the middle of nowhere, expecting to be culled the first time you see another troll. Terezi just smiles and adds reading and writing lessons to the morning routine, determined that she will mold this boy into ‘a troll worthy of your house.’

Math is about the only thing he sees any point in learning, since he can call up to memory any written words once he has seen them. His writing is laborious, but he demonstrates that he can ‘make Gogdamn simple lines! After all, it’s not like there’s any nookbleeding paintings of entire fucking landscapes on the walls!’ The first real map he finished with the two of you was a rough sketch of the hive, all the walls and windows and doors and secret pathways. The second was a simple one of the nearby coastline, taking him on short trips so he could get a good feel of the measurements. But for the past few weeks, he has stolen your key, locked himself into his room, and refused to come out at all, working feverishly on some sort of project.

You personally find it adorable that he is working so hard to be useful, but you cannot help worrying when he stops answering to your knocks at the door with his usual stream of cursing and insults. However, the real trouble begins when he does not answer at all. The tealblood by your side tells you to wait a few days before you do anything drastic; you make it about four hours. Then you pickpocket her key and open the door to see what it is that is distracting the boy so much.

You rush to the small troll when you see him collapsed fully-clothed and half-in/half-out of the recuperacoon. After checking his pulse and remembering to breathe, you gently lift him into the coon for a nap as you satiate your curiosity. At some point you had approved a large table to be moved into his room, along with a ridiculous amount of mapping supplies; covering the entire wood surface is a gigantic roll of fresh white hoofbeast hide. Peering at the surface, you note that quite a lot of it is covered with light sketches done in charcoal, all with little scraps of symbols and sometimes hastily written words besides them.

One particular smudge has ‘home’ crossed out beside it, and you feel a small twinge on your own heartstrings. Looking over what has been etched on the leather, you quickly realize that Karkat must be making a comprehensive map of all the places he ever visited. There is a good portion of the inner jungles mapped out, as well as the marshes he lived in. A swath of land leading from the marshes is clear, but there are fields of untouched white on either side; likely the path the seatroll took on his way back to the ocean. The coastlands you claim have also begun to take form.

One corner has already received its first coat of ink and paint; the area directly surrounding your hive is a wonderful clash of ocean blues and purples against the land greens and yellows. You wonder if he has even noticed that he placed a priority on your castle before his own hive; no matter how shabby it may have been, he still proclaimed it as his home. Some part of you feels a bit betrayed about this, but that is complete and totally nonsense. You know that even if you give him everything he could have ever asked for and more, he is still nothing more than a prisoner here. And more than a little bit of you is okay with that, because it means that he will never leave you.

“What the Hell is wrong with you?” a grumbling voice emanates from the recuperacoon.

“You weren’t motherfucking answering the door,” you cheerily reply as you turn around to face the lowblood mutant. His eyes are groggily half-open and his ever-present frown is more of a grimace as he tries to not look like a troll suffering from the worst hangover in history. You remember from somewhere that depriving a troll of sleep is a very dangerous game; it makes the troll in question more aggressive. Somehow you have yet to see any signs of true predatory actions from the small troll, and you wonder if perhaps he is just used to never sleeping.

“Maybe I didn’t answer the nooklicking door because I was passed the fuck out, bulgehumper,” he snarls without any real threat as you approach. “I’ve been b-b-bu-busy woooorking on that Gogdamn map.” You never noticed before, but when he yawns he shows off all of his little shark-like fangs quite nicely; they could be those of a seatroll, if you did not know any better and if they were actually sharp. When he moves as if to haul himself out of the recuperacoon, you carefully push him back down into the sopor slime.

“I think you still need some motherfucking down time,” you slide into the coon next to him. “We can take the night off, my tiny motherfucker.” He starts to say something about your choice of words, but his snappy retorts are dulled with exhaustion as you pull him towards you as relentlessly as the tide beats the sands of the beaches. Finally having settled him tucked up under your chin, you work your fingers into his unruly hair and massage his scalp. It takes a few minutes for him to relax, but eventually he is content to just be coddled and held just like any other attention-starved kid off the streets. Then why is he so different?

“What the fuck is this, anyway?” sighs the boy.

You debate pretending not to know what he is asking, but you have always had a problem with lies, “I don’t motherfucking know yet, little brother, but maybe it is pity.”


	4. Karkat

You pace the room, decidedly agitated and more than a little confused. You try to pretend for all of a minute that what was said last day did not happen, let alone what actually happened last day did not happen. There was no way the Grand Highblood was serious when he said that he might pity a stupid mutant like you. Considering that both of you are moirailed men, the only logical explanation would be a flushed confession, but that kind of shit did not happen to lowbloods, let alone you.

You are a mutant who was lucky enough to get a moirail by the grace of Troll-Jegus himself! You do not have any more luck to fill out quadrants. Hell! You do not even have enough luck to escape the culling fields for more than maybe a few more perigrees! That is all it will take before the red in your eyes becomes bright and noticeable enough that you will become a walking target. Maybe less, actually- you have been pretty damn lucky so far that your mutation apparently slowed your maturation a bit. It was probably for the best that Sollux was separated from you, since now he would not have to deal with trying to protect you when the time finally arrived.

Although you have never thought of yourself as a particularly pessimistic person, you begin to wonder yet again if you should take what little happiness you can out of this world before you are forced to bare your neck for the gallows or the axe. But it would be so selfish of you to do that, especially when you are not exactly sure what would make you happy. In fact, happy was never something you were much concerned with before. Surviving was always first and foremost, then attempting to keep your moirail out of trouble, then trying to remain inconspicuous, and then if you had time, every now and then you would get a little bit of contentment from just being safe and having Sollux there with you. Content was about the closest you knew to happiness.

You freeze when the highblood makes a rather decidedly whine-like sound and moves in the slime that is quickly cooling. Your body never made much heat in the first place, but you begin to shiver with something that has nothing to do with the cold air. This is not happening. You are a mutant, and you are going to be culled within this sweep, and you are not considering trying to be flushed for the highblood who is practically half-seatroll. Resuming your pacing, you begin a mental checklist of all the reasons why it is impossible to pity the subjuggulator.

Number one: he is fucking insane. Not that many trolls, or even your moirail, are much better, but just the fact he is whimsically crazy means he could just as easily change his mind about you at any given moment. And as soon as he does, your head will no longer be attached to your shoulders. It is impossible to pity those who have your life in their hands- that is what the caliginous quadrant is for!

Number two: you are pretty sure his moirail would stab you if you accepted his advances, considering the talk she already had with you about picking up the pieces. Which brings up number three: regardless, you are going to be culled soon. You probably should spare the poor bastard having to lose a second matesprit. Number four: you know it has to be a joke; he can do way better than a mutant given to him as tribute. Number five: even if it wasn’t a joke, you have been so abused that sometimes even your moirail gives you funny looks when you abjure physical contact simply because it hurts so much to remember.

You cannot think of any more reasons, and half of those were not so much reasons why you could not pity him and more reasons why something had to go wrong. Pacing slowing, you speculate as to whether or not this was because you could possibly pity him, sometime in the future. Although you are loath to admit it, there were times when he looks at you with this sort of painful longing that makes him look sweeps younger and makes you ache a little bit because you know you cannot be the troll who can make that expression melt away. Immediately after having that thought, you begin to punch yourself in the head to try and convince your thinkpan that such thoughts are not conductive towards your goal of not pitying the highblood.

“What are you motherfucking doing now, little firecracker?” said highblood’s voice causes you to freeze in your tracks. You slowly turn around to find him leaning over the edge of the recuperacoon with his chin cradled on the backs of his hands. There is something decidedly predatory about the pose, but you would be damned if you fled from a half-asleep troll still in a coon and covered in slime.

“N-nothing!” you bark out a reply. “Is it too Gogdamn much to ask for a few minutes of time without you slobbering all over my bulge? That is all I want: some motherfucking time to get my horns screwed on straight. Can I have that or is there something you actually want from me as of this exact eyefucking moment?”

“Your rants don’t make any motherfucking sense sometimes, my man,” he frowns. “Yeah, I guess I do motherfucking want something. Get your skinny ass over here before I have to get out and come get you, motherfucker.” He holds his arms out expectantly, and you find yourself walking towards him with rolling eyes before you were even aware that you had started moving at all. When he hauls you in by lifting you up under your armpits, you only give an annoyed grumble at being toted around as a child yet again.

He tucks you up under his chin like you are his most favorite cuddle-object in the whole world and gives a contented little sigh. You refuse to admit how adorable that is as you try to get comfortable. You learned early on that any attempt to escape only made him cling more; it was best just to wait it out until he fell asleep and then try to get free. As his fingers stroke the tip of your scar-covered ear, you can feel your face filling with crimson blood. You are such a wriggler sometimes; people have had their hands on a lot more personal places than your external hearing flap. Hell, even the highblood has! Of course, that thought immediately makes you squirm to hide your face into his shoulder and pretend that he cannot see the back of your neck slowly flushing crimson.

“What seems to be your malfunction, motherfucker?” he smiles into your scalp. “You are a damn sight more fidgety than motherfucking usual. Just chill, brother.”

“I am chill,” you mumble into his collarbone. “I am so chill I’m fucking freezing to death. I was told it was warmer at the coast; I have obviously been grievously misinformed. Some nookscratcher somewhere needs to be culled.”

“Well, it is twelfth perigree now,” he chuckles dryly. You instantly go stiff, panicking as you try to figure out where all that time went. It seems impossible that you have been here for just over two perigrees now. You wonder if you eyes have begun to show that unnatural red color- if your time is already nearly up.

He feels you shudder and his arms tighten around you, not quite sure what is wrong, “You okay there, little man?”

You try to gather your thoughts, “I’m, uh, not sure. I guess, I was just really expecting to be dead by now. Holy shit! Have my eyes changed? I haven’t looked- I mean, I’m not some pride-featherbeast just checking out my plumage all the time like that violetblood bastard. I-”

“Your eyes are motherfucking fine,” the highblood talks over you. “They have a bit more of that miracle red in them, but not enough to motherfucking glow yet. There’s still enough motherfucking grey for you to try and pass off as a rustblooded motherfucker.” As you sigh in relief, he continues, “And what is all this motherfucking talk about culling again? I already up and motherfucking told you that I am not motherfucking killing you.”

“I got that you aren’t going to do that any time soon, dipshit,” you hiss, “but just for once open up those listeningholes of yours and hear what I am saying: you are not the only damn troll in the world that gets to cull! One look at my blood and just about any troll on the street into a murderous rampage; even your guards are probably starting to think about how they’d get rid of me in a neat little fashion where there would be no waste of my ‘motherfucking miracle blood’ for you to paint with.

“No, shut up! I’m not finished! And even if somehow I magically don’t get my head on the chopping block by one of them, what is left for me? One day you’ll get fucking tired of my shit and that’ll be it. Back to being culled at best, or back to being a Gogdamn pail for any drooling halfwit with a bulge that walks into the door. And I’m fucking tired of it. I’m fucking tired of all of it. I-I just- I want to be fucking culled, okay? I want it to stop! I want everything to stop! The pain and the fear and the memories! I-I can’t get the pictures out of my head and-”

You are cut off once again when he crushed the air out of you with a hug that was well-within rib-cracking territory, “No! I think YOU ARE THE MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD WHO NEEDS TO SHUT UP!” He alternates between screaming and speaking softly, “Do you have any idea what that would MOTHERFUCKING DO TO ME? DO YOU, motherfucker? I am not going to motherfucking cull you, and I WILL NOT MOTHERFUCKING ALLOW ANY MOTHERFUCKING PEASANT to do it either. You are MOTHERFUCKING MINE NOW, little crimson-blooded motherfucker, and I DO NOT MOTHERFUCKING LIKE MY THINGS TO BE BROKEN, understand? Honk! HONK!”

You nod mutely, unable to ascertain whether you are scared shitless of him or somewhat concerned about this outburst. Then you realize he is calming himself with little hiccupping breaths that are so familiar to you that your heart starts to break. You recognize them because you have made them yourself, pinning for your lusus as you huddle in a small, dank cave and shiver from the cold. Belatedly you remember that the tealblood had mentioned that the subjuggulator had lost his own lusus when he was rather young, and you finally feel the connection between the two of you. No matter how old he is, you are both still lost children in this Hell-infested deathtrap of a world, just trying to stumble your way along, blinder than even Terezi. And for some reason that comforts you.

Long after he has fallen asleep, you allow him to still cling to you in his gradually-loosening grip; and when he shifts in his dreams, you follow him without reservation. If the time for pretending was over, you had to admit that you did not want to lose his embrace; what that exactly meant was anyone’s guess. When you finally drift back to sleep yourself, you pretend for a moment that everything was going to work out exactly as the highblood wanted.

* * * * * *

Two nights later, you are enjoying a rare meal alone with the Grand Highblood and his loyal Legislacerator when the giant wooden doors of the Great Hall suddenly fly open and bang against the stone walls. You choke on your oversized bite of fresh bread, managing to swallow it after Makara gives a few hearty thumps to your back. Once you are able to breathe again, you inspect the newcomers with a growing dread.   
One is a fucking indigoblood, only just below the Grand Highblood himself in the hemocaste system; his insignia is embroidered on his leather jerkin in his blood color, suggesting he is probably at least a lord himself. He is huge- not quite as tall as the subjuggulator but built much sturdier and with more sheer muscle. Carrying himself with the air of a person who has to be very careful not to crush everything he touches, you note how careful he is to avoid bumping into any of the stray stools or chairs scattered about as he approaches.

One of his horns is actually broken off, which is never a good sign. Trolls that fight with others in elaborate displays of dominance often use their horns, but it is much more likely to lose one or both in the battlefield than any other way. This labels him as either a total badass fighter that managed to come out on top of a no-holds-barred fight or a man that liked to ritualistically dominate others on a regular basis. The first option is concerning, the other is just creepy.

You are so distracted by this mammoth adult troll coming towards you that at first you do not notice the tiny girl trailing in his wake. Shocked to see that she is almost as small as you are, you note that she is wearing a matching indigo insignia on her small half-helm; you are willing to bet that she is a bit lower on the spectrum, however. Highbloods tended to get progressively larger as you went up the hemospectrum, peeking at the indigo- and purplebloods before trailing off again at the seatrolls. You would guess she was a yellowblood like your moirail, but the large amounts of olive green in her outfit suggest that you would also be wrong. Of course, her blue tail is very much so distracting you as you wonder whether it is a mutation or some sort of fashion statement that just never made it inland.

She spots you about at the same time you notice her, and you watch her olive eyes as she sizes you up the same way you just glanced over her and her hulking partner. Her skin is a dark grey, suggesting that she is older than you by maybe two sweeps or so. At first she displays nothing but open curiosity, but there is soon a glint in her eye that you do not like one bit. Suddenly she darts forward on all fours, leaping onto the table and tackling you to the ground before you can do any more than raise your arms to defend your throat. As you tumble to the ground, your chief thought is that Lord Makara lied to you and your eyes are so obvious that the girl has decided to cull you on the spot. When she pins you with a feral grin, you snarl at her in a sort of irate disbelief.

“Nya~! Purrfect execution!” she exclaims. “The mighty Hunterrorist pawses and reflects upon what to do with her wonderful catch. Should she eat him? The little troll is so pawfully small he would barely make a snack. Present him to her meowrail? Or purrhaps play with him a bit? Does the tiny troll like to play, she asks.”

“The ‘tiny troll’ would like you to get the fuck off of him effective immediately,” your eyes narrow, not liking anyone who is this up in your face. “And he would also like to point out that the crazy girl with the meowbeast puns is not much bigger than he is, thank you very much.”

“Nepeta!” the indigoblood’s voice was gravelly and rough. “Get away from that lowblood this instant! You have no idea where it’s been. And Lord Makara, must you allow them to use such vulgar terminology in the Great Hall?”

“I don’t know what you’re motherfucking going on about, Zahhak,” was the listless reply of the highblood.

“The Hunterrorist kitty refuses!” the oliveblood cheerily replies. “She says that the lowblood is much too amusing to not play with. The great and mighty cat asks for the tiny troll to state his name, so she can decide on an appurropriate nickname for him.”

You seethe with anger, “There is no way in Hell you are-”

“His name’s Karkat,” grins the tealblood wickedly. “Karkat Vantas, but I call him Karkles mostly.”

“Do not tell her those lies!” you yell at Terezi. “You have said that all of twice since I’ve been here; mostly you just say ‘little man’ or something else derogatory until I snap at you.”

“Maybe if you would answer the first time, I wouldn’t have to result to such measures, Karkles,” she cackles in response.

“I really must demand that you cease this, Nepeta,” the indigoblood is wringing his hands out with anxiety. “Grand Highblood, if it would so please you?”

“Actually, I am wanting my little motherfucker back right about now anyway,” the purpleblood simply reaches over and grabs you by the scruff of your collar. You are used to being hauled around in such a manner, but the oliveblood is unceremoniously dumped onto the ground when you are jerked out from under her. She pouts for a moment until she realizes that the subjuggulator, being the insufferable prick that he is, has heaved you right onto his lap and wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you there. The expression on her face is one that deeply disturbs you; it is like she is imagining what the exact status of your relationship is and how likely it would be to catch you two in a compromising position, as well as what exactly that position would be. In short, really fucking creepy. However, one look at her companion’s face rapidly turning blue and beading with sweat and you are beginning to think that maybe everyone along the coasts just has their mind in the gutter all the time. That would actually explain a lot.

“The mighty Hunterrorist wonders aloud if Karkitty is an appurropriate enough nickname for the tiny troll,” the oliveblood breaks out into a mischievous smile.

“The White Dragon agrees heartily to this nickname, even if she does prefer Karkles,” responds Terezi. You gape at her for a moment. You cannot believe your life has come to being forced to hear the roleplaying of two insane girls as they discuss what names are cute enough for your stature. When the word adorable comes up, you insist that you are most definitely adorabloodthirsty. They find this hilarious, much to your dismay.

“Not that I mean to interrupt your playful banter,” interjected the indigoblood, “but I have business to conduct with the Grand Highblood.”

“Well, you are motherfucking here, brother,” yawns the purpleblood. “You can motherfucking start whenever you are ready.”

“Erm, of course,” sweat begins to bead on the mammoth man’s forehead again. “I deemed it fit to notify you that my forces have completely taken over Corsair Serket’s lands. Her refusal to pay the appropriate fines and her constant pillaging of our villages could no longer be ignored. As such, we are now the second-largest landholders, after you, sir.”

“And you came here to make a barely-veiled threat upon Lord Makara, did you?” the tealblood licks her lips in a disturbing fashion. “We have our shared treaty with the seatrolls, but that is the extent of our obligations, is that it?”

“I would not presume to do any such thing,” the hulking indigoblood shook his head adamantly. “I am simply informing the Grand Highblood due to the proximity of our lands, and the fact that Serket herself has escaped out to the ocean once again.”

“Is that all, motherfucker?” frowns Makara. “She is probably just motherfucking going to attack her kismesis’s fleet again. When that blueblooded motherfucker comes back to land, her troops will be motherfucking devastated, like always. You can just get rid of her then.”

“I believe Lord Zahhak, Irontroll of the Lands, was hoping that we would get rid of her for him, my dear,” corrects Terezi. “He doesn’t want to dirty his hands.”

“If the ceruleanblood would fight me in the open, I would have no such qualms,” corrects the indigoblood. “But I am not one for subtle battles of will, Legislacerator. I am from a distinct line of knights; we do much better dueling on the battlefield than involving ourselves in politics.”

“Why don’t you just tell them that you don’t want to kill your neighbor until she makes the furst move?” the little oliveblood returned to her companion’s side. “I swear, you are the silliest troll I know!” She clambered onto his broad shoulders, perching there with ease.

“Hmm,” the purpleblood appeared to consider this before he glances at you. “You need any motherfucking cerulean for your maps, little motherfucker?”

You frown, “Considering your fucking barrels of blood downstairs? No, I’m pretty sure I do not need to request the culling of some random blueblood. In fact, as long as she’s giving that violetblooded bastard a hard time, I am kind of rooting for the bitch.” Although Terezi frowns at this, and the highblood makes an enraged sort of noise, the Grand Highblood throws back his head and gives out great gales of honking laughter.

“You are a tiny motherfucking firecracker, all right,” he announced joyously. “I can’t motherfucking figure out if you just hate all highbloods or if your motherfucking wrath extends to the hemocaste system in general.” He pokes the tip of your nose with a claw, “Honk! But I think you can motherfucking cool it for a bit. Let the motherfucking adults talk.”

This was entirely the wrong thing to say to you; every young troll harbors an intense mistrust, hatred, and fear towards their ruthless elders. You sink your fangs into the finger that had just recently been poking your nose, giving a warning growl. Of course, you expected nothing less than the fist bopping the top of your skull, but you are a little irked that he otherwise ignores the pinpricks on his digit and continues on, “You heard the little motherfucker. We have no need for motherfucking need for Serket’s blood. If you want any help in getting rid of her, you’ll have to motherfucking pay for it somehow.”

“This is most improper!” argued Zahhak. “Is there any way you can say she does not deserve to be culled, Grand Highblood?”

“What do you motherfucking say, my palest?” Makara turns to the tealblood.

“Serket has done nothing that I could pin her to the wall for,” grits out the Legislacerator unhappily. “Perhaps for if she had been a cosigner, I could accuse her of breaking the treaty with the seatrolls, but her domain is so far inland that it was deemed unnecessary. And since she is not causing any strife amongst the landdweller castes, there is also nothing that can be done there.”

“Are you fur real?” whistled the oliveblood. “Vriskers is gooooooood at this.” Her inidgoblood companion made another rather unattractive sound to show his displeasure.

“If you are willing to propose an alliance, perhaps we can dedicate some more spies to keeping track of her movements,” suggested Terezi. “But as of right now, it would be most unwise to try to take on Serket. Unless any of you have forgotten, her ability makes her especially dangerous whenever she is inland.” They all paused for a moment, leaving you out of the loop as the only outsider. You briefly debate asking what it is they are going on about, but you do not feel much like earning another smack from the highblood.

“As long as you do not consider it rude,” Zahhak carefully worded his request, “we would like a few nights to think this over. I assume that you will be drawing up the drafts of a formal alliance proclamation, Pyrope?”

“It will be most convenient for you to return in three nights,” she nodded. “I can have everything drawn up by then, including different versions depending on how negotiations go. I trust that will be soon enough for you?”

“We will return then,” nodded the giant troll. He turned as if to leave, and then paused, “Might I enquire as to when you added that sun there, Grand Highblood?” All of you pause and look up at the area of the ceiling that has started to be covered by a large circle made up of an overly familiar bright red. The little oliveblood actually falls down from his shoulders when she tilts back too far to get a good look.

You can feel your face begin to burn, despite your best efforts to keep it down. When the Hell had he started that monstrosity? And why hadn’t it been finished when you had been here for two whole perigrees already? And then you realize that he probably ran out of your- uh, particular color- quite some time ago. You had not given him any blood, and not a single pail had been within your sight- thank Gog for small favors. However, this realization and the subsequent thoughts were definitely making you blush, and this was the worst possible time for that. You can feel your pulse hammering in your ears as the panic begins to take hold.

“Blood mutations are really the rarest kind,” the indigoblood was slowly drawing closer, bit by bit. “Not really something you expect to see in anything that comes out of the caverns, let alone a nearly full-grown troll. It is something … abhorrent to see in our day and age. And being kept as a pet in the Great Hall is most... _lewd_.”

“Whoa now, motherfucker-” began the purpleblood.

“Please forgive me, Grand Highblood, but the mutant must be culled!” When he lunges for you, you are thrown to the side like a ragdoll. A juggling club meets with the incoming black fist, the resulting crack echoing about the hall. As you scramble to get your feet back under you, you wildly cast about for where the oliveblood went. You spot her neatly facing off with Terezi, both of their weapons at the ready. However, neither of the moirails wanted to get involved, seeing no reason to make a move until one of the highbloods was in serious danger.

You turn your attention back to the fighting worriedly. Although the Subjuggulator had one Hell of an arm to toss you like that, the indigoblood was pure muscle and righteous fury. There was no way either of them would come out of the battle completely unharmed. Your anxiety steadily builds as you watch the two of them clash over and over again, neither one gaining the advantage for any more than a moment. The unconventional style of fighting Makara uses is familiar to you- simply hit what you can reach and try to avoid being clobbered yourself, everything else is simply extra- but Zahhak was obviously following some kind of training, his form fluid as he moved from one attack to the next.

It did not take long for the indigoblood to wear down the purpleblood’s manic attacks, even if he had taken a few hits up to that point. When he disarms the highblood in a move that knocked the clown troll on his ass, you are in motion almost instantly. Snatching a knife from the table, you vault yourself over it and onto the stranger’s back, scrambling to get into a position where his massive arms could not reach back and grab you. Luckily you are built for speed and agility, and you manage to get the blade against his throat before he is able to fully move his arms upwards. The instant he feels the metal edge against his skin, he freezes in place.

“Back off,” you growl lowly, unable to think about much else other than getting him away from the highblood before everything went to Hell again. Adrenaline is pumping through your veins at a mile a minute, and your pupils are so dilated that the normally-dim hall is as bright as if you were outside under the full moons. It won’t take long for the shakes to set in, but the indigoblood does not know that. After an agonizingly drawn-out moment, he lowers his arms slowly and takes a step back, carrying you as if you weigh nothing at all. As soon as Makara has his feet under him again, you realize that now you are in a very precarious position.

Grinding his teeth together in irritation, the indigoblood lord is beginning to clench and unclench his hands; he seems to be debating whether or not to chance you slitting his throat so he can throttle you. Considering this started with him wanting to cull your ass, you are not much surprised. However, you are very much so used to fighting trolls bigger than you are, especially since you are pretty much the shortest troll ever, and you know you can at least manage to get out of arm’s reach with some quick maneuvering. Planting a foot squarely between his shoulder blades, you flip off of his back like it was the handle and roll away and onto your feet as soon as you hit the ground. The hand with the knife still in it is up and poised in front of your face, ready to block a blow or strike out. But there is no blow to block or person to strike out at.

The indigoblood is snarling but keeping his distance. This is likely due to the fact that he is now between you and the Grand Highblood; an attack could come from either side if he were to turn on one of you. A precursory glance at his moirail tells you that she had moved from her spot, but Terezi was keeping her out of the way with her cane sword drawn and at the ready. It appeared as if you were at a standstill; no one was willing to make the first move only to have an extremely vicious counterattack thrown in their faces.

“I suggest that you motherfucking leave now, Zahhak,” the Subjuggulator licks his fangs slowly. “And don’t motherfucking come back until you have some motherfucking manners.”

The indigoblood opens his mouth for a retort, but suddenly his moirail is by his side. Tugging at one of his massive hands, she gets him to reconsider and close the hole to his chitinous windchute. After a moment of silent communication between them, the blueblood takes a deep breath and another step backwards. He continues backing away slowly, not willing to turn his back on any of you.

Just before he reaches the doors, he warns, “This is a dangerous game you are playing, Grand Highblood. The drones-”

“If I motherfucking remember correctly,” interrupts Makara, “you had yourself your own little rustblood for awhile, motherfucker. So do not motherfucking lecture me, Zahhak.” Even though you do not know what they are talking about, the blue flush brightening a black face tells you that the Subjuggulator may have had a point. The two strangers retreat without further ado, leaving the three of you alone in the Great Hall once again. With a shaky sigh, the small blade clatters to the floor, and you sit down heavily. It was over.


	5. Gamzee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for any unwanted feels this chapter may cause. It's Gamzee's turn to get picked on. On the other hand, there's also some more porn, so I think it balances out quite nicely.

You are by the boy’s side the instant he kind of collapses in on himself, shaking on the floor like he was going to fall apart. You curl yourself around him, shooshing him and telling him that everything is alright and he did a fine motherfucking job. Terezi gives a snort from her position further back but says nothing to correct you. After a few moments, you decide that this is just not going to cut it, and you bundle him up into your arms, retreating back to your chambers so that you can dunk him into your recuperacoon. Of course, you climb in after tossing your shirt, wrapping him back into your embrace so he would not have to deal with the cold.

As he begins to calm down from the adrenaline rush, you speak up again, “You are wound up pretty motherfucking tight for such a short scuffle.”

“Sh-shut the fuck u-up, asswipe,” is his chattered reply. “D-does it look like I f-fucking get into brawls v-very often? Most of my ‘sc-scuffles’ end with me ge-ge-ge-getting… erk!” He shudders violently, something that has nothing to do with his hormones or temperature. You recognize that spacey look in his eyes now, and you are having none of it.

“Hey! Did I motherfucking say it was time for a trip down memory lane?” you pap his face until his focus comes back to you. “There we go, little motherfucker. Stay on the here and now. I hereby motherfucking COMMAND IT! HONK! No more of this whole SELF-ABUSING SIDE-RANTING THING! What did your motherfucking moirail ever do with you?”

“S-Sol? I don’t f-fucking know,” he squirms around, trying to get warm without getting to close to you. It is adorable, but you end up just tucking him up closer as he continues, “W-we were a-always a mess, Sol a-and I. H-h-horrible Gogdamn mess. Mostly c-consisted of me trying t-to rein in his fucking c-cocky attitude and g-getting the everliving t-tar beaten o-out of me when h-he went out anyway. Th-then h-he’d have to come r-rescue me later. T-took turns bailing e-each other, we did.”

“Sounds like no motherfucking way to work a pale quadrant, my brother,” you gently admonish. “Part of it is looking out for each other, but where is the motherfucking love?”

He snorts into the green slime, “L-love? We’re f-fucking talking about s-survival here, d-dumbass. A p-pair of m-mutants in the d-deep inlands? We n-needed each other. J-just kind of always f-figured that would b-be…that w-would be all I ever g-got. That love c-could come after... i-if I lived l-long enough.”

“You are telling me that you motherfucking quadranted yourself with a motherfucker who you not only did not love, but did not love you?” your rage is trumped by mild disbelief. “The Hell is motherfucking wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with your motherfucking moirail? Are you kids just bitchtits insane? Why not just motherfucking be red or even black then, with as much commitment as you two motherfuckers have for each other?”

There is a snarling at your collarbone, “We l-look out for each other, m-motherfucker. D-don’t tell me that sometimes you h-highbloods aren’t driven together th-through necessity. You and your L-Le-Leg-moirail were just l-lucky. B-besides, h-he… he took my fucking a-ass in out of the c-cold and t-took care of me! S-so what if I s-sometimes get cut up f-for it? I’d be as d-dead as dead w-without him!”

“That is sounding like motherfucking indentured-servant talk to me, brother,” you word it as carefully as possible. “No troll in a red romance would hold that above his quadrantmate’s head. What exactly are you to that motherfucker?”

Suddenly there is no movement at all coming from the kid, and you are worried that you have crossed the line. Then he kind of whispers, “I’m whatever h-he needs me to fucking be.”

You gnash your teeth in pure loathing, swearing to yourself that one day you will get your clammy hands on this so-called moirail. This was the most messed-up kind of pity you had ever heard of, and you had been around to see flip-flopping among your peers like nobody’s business. You have the sneaking suspicion that the boy had not only been a red pail for this Sollux, but had been used for black yearnings as well. His idea of what a moirail was meant to be was so warped that he probably did not even realize how wrong it was that he was being so used, but in his mind a debt had to be paid.

You spend most of the night just talking to him about quadrants, of all things. You explain what it is like to have a real moirail like your lovely tealblood, someone who not only keeps you out of trouble, but is there in the evening to help you put on your facepaint and cuddles you during a feelings jam on a pile. You talk about kismesitudes, but you were never much good at the caliginous quadrant and end up somehow talking about your dear Tavros. Part of you knows that this is ludicrous to discuss with the mutant, especially feeling what you feel towards him, but you keep talking until he is asleep in your arms. And maybe someday, he will learn what it really means to pity someone.

* * * * * *

“D-don’t say anything j-just yet!” the kid splutters out quickly as soon as your eyes are creaking open. “I know this is not- uh, not exactly what you had in mind with the fucking quadrant talk, but hey, I can make my own decisions, right? And this isn’t exactly a Gogdamn answer to your blighted bulge’s confession of flush feelings, and I know that I’m kind of fucked up every which way to the gallows- I know that! But sometimes when you look at me with that kind of sad, longing expression- the one you think I don’t notice- and…”

When he pauses, you notice for the first time how bright red his face is. He mumbles into his clavicle for a moment and you give him a thorough once-over. What you see carefully clasped in his claws like it was going to bite him makes your heart stutter, briefly forgetting how to function. Where he found the damn thing is unknown, but you can easily recognize one of your old flushed filial pails when you see them. It is not one you were overly fond of, so it does not have as many memories attached to it, but you are a little saddened to see it brought out anyway. And being held like it was something to be afraid of was not helping matters.

“Is this because you still motherfucking feel like you need to earn your keep?” you grumble lowly, “because I thought we had been over that already.”

“Fuck you, asshole!” he snarls as his head instantly snaps up. “It is not fucking about that, nookwhiff! Were you not listening to me at all? Well, then clean out your hearingtubes and listen! I am trying to say that I pity you, you giant douchenozzle! Gog knows why, with as difficult as you are sometimes! My quadrants might be fucked all to Hell, but that still means something, doesn’t it? And I may not know exactly how things are supposed to go, but damn it isn’t it supposed to be simple? I pity you, and you, erm…well, I kind of was hoping you pity me. Either that or I’m going to formally fucking request all cuddle sessions be put on hold indefinitely, you sick fuck.”

You take in a deep breath and let it out in a mighty gust, “But you don’t even got the motherfucking know on about how the flushed quadrant works, do you? You don’t pity me the same way I pity you, little motherfucker.” When the metal bucket collides with your horns hard enough to send vibrations down your spine and make you see stars, you realize that you have not been entirely fair.

“FUCK YOU!” he screeches, sounding perilously close to tears. “FUCK YOU AND YOUR INABILITY TO EVEN COMPREHEND WHAT I AM GOING THROUGH, YOU GIANT ASSMUNCH! YOU GOGDAMN HIGHBLOODS ARE ALL THE SAME! WELL FUCK YOU AND YOUR PURER QUADRANTS AND YOUR SNOOTY WAYS! BUT MOST OF ALL, FUCK ME FOR EVEN TH-THINKING THAT Y-Y-YOU…” When the first hiccup breaks through, you are shocked beyond belief.

Your vision clears to show you he has his arms wrapped around his sides and pinkish tears building up in the corners of his eyes. But most of all, you can see him jerk in little spasms as he does his best to hold in the traitorous sounds. For a troll in intense emotional distress, hiccupping is a biological last resort to obtain stability. However, it was a far more common response in those who grew up as orphans than in any troll that had a lusus to comfort and care for them. Something that the two of you actually had in common.

“No! No, don’t do that now,” you heave yourself over the edge of the recuperacoon and pull him towards you in one fluid movement. “Shoosh! No motherfucking tearing up on me. Look, I did not mean it like that, little motherfucker. Shoosh-a-shoosh! It is alright! It is beyond motherfucking alright. Shoosh. Now calm your tits and motherfucking tell Gamz what’s wrong.”

“I-I *hic* just told you!” he wails into your chest. “D-don’t fucking *hic* touch me! It’s b-bad enough I got r-rejected by y-*hic*-you! I don’t n-need any *hic* more confusion-”

“Now who all up and said anything about rejecting you, motherfucker?” you ask. “I am just wanting to make sure this is actually what you motherfucking desire, my little man.”

“I brought a *hic* G-Gogdamn _bucket_ , you ass!” he chokes out. “H-how much clearer could I f-f-*hic*-fucking be?” Oh. Right. There was the fact he was an emotionally-damaged, abused child used to being used as nothing more than a pail for anyone who managed to get their claws on him. Even his own moirail apparently had mistreated him due to his small size and apparent vulnerability. For him to bring a bucket…you cannot even imagine the psychological trauma he is going through right now.

“Maybe it is a bit motherfucking early for buckets, short-stack,” you reply, knowing full well the hypocrisy of the statement that leaves your lips. “I don’t want to motherfucking rush you into anything…”

A dry chuckle escapes him, “We kind of a-already screwed the woofbeast on that one, *hic* didn’t we? And…honestly… that was the *hic* only time anyone has ever… you know… erm…” Although the hiccups are starting to slow, the red is making a comeback on what little of his face you can see.

Blinking a few times, you cautiously ask, “Are you saying that no one has ever motherfucking pailed you before?”

“Well, if the bastards weren’t getting off then they *hic* really did not see the point in fucking touching me, now did they?” he squirms uncomfortably. You wonder if he can ever sit still as you pull him up off the ground with one lanky arm around his waist. On the other hand, it appeared that the hiccups had finally completely stopped. You fetch the pail while you are at it, but you ignore it for the moment in favor of getting back in the recuperacoon; it is way too early to even be evening yet.

You settle in comfortably and pull the little guy onto your lap. He has started spluttering about something, but you are more concerned with getting your cuddle on. After a few minutes of working your fingers through his tangles and massaging his scalp, he has melted into a gooey pile of troll against your stomach. You work your way down his neck on onto his shoulders, working his knots out through his layered shirts. He groans and leans into it, obviously in sore need of someone to take care of him. Then again, it has been over two perigrees since he had his so-called moirail- an insanely long time for any troll, especially a teenager.

“Don’t you need some more of my Gogdamn miracle color to finish your sun or something?” grumbles the mutant into your chest.

You about choke on your own tongue for a moment, “Well, even if I motherfucking do require some of that righteous red, I see no reason why it can’t motherfucking wait a little longer now. The ceiling is not going anywhere.”

“You’re the one who brought the pail to bed,” he smirks up at you. You open and close your mouth a few times, but no noise comes out. To that, there is no argument.

However, you are going to still take it slow, and do this the right way. This is not your first rodeo in dealing with skittish coonmates. You pull him closer still and kiss him, enjoying the taste of him as he slowly opens up and kisses back. His responses are a bit hesitant and measured but encouraging nonetheless. You roll down his trousers with languid movements, keeping the contact between your mouths as a stabilizer. One hand holding him up, you palm his bulge ever so gently. He gives a gasp and a little shudder, claws curling in the air as he helplessly tries to figure out what to do with his hands.

With a mischievous grin, you briefly take your hand from his bulge and guide those tiny grey fists towards your horns, “Just motherfucking hang on and enjoy the ride, little brother.”

His response is somewhere between a snarl and a moan as you return to your previous business. With every stroke, his hands curl and twist around the base of your horns in deliciously masochistic spasms. Your longer horns are not as sensitive as some would think, but you still use them in the same way others do to sense the atmospheric changes in the air. Now all you can sense with them is the pulse hammering through the boy’s hands, surrounding you as if you were standing on the beach with the surf pounding all around you.

As you drive him towards the edge, you pause for a moment fetch the bucket from the edge of the recuperacoon. Trembling, he moves as if to loosen his hands, but a soft growl of admonishment makes him quickly return them to their rightful place. Grunting your approval, you are pleased to return to the task at hand and lavish your little flushcrush with attention. He comes into the bucket pressed between the two of you, that crimson color quickening the pulse in your veins even further.

Clinging to each other, you attempt to get yourself under control; there is no way you are going to be getting your pail on anywhere near this kid. You have to let him learn that not everyone is going to jump onto his ass the instant he lets his guard down. After a few moments, you realize that he still has your horns in a vice grip; you lift the bucket out over the edge and set it down before disengaging his thin digits from your ornamental headpieces. With your movement, suddenly the mutant is worming his pants back on and scrambling to get out of the recuperacoon. You frown and pull him back in towards you, not intending to let him go for at least a perigree or two.

“Can’t I clean up or is that some sort of anti-highblood thing?” he grumbles unhappily. “Are you cold-blooded fops all about lying in your own filth?”

“You’ll motherfucking live,” you retort. “Just relax and let us get our cuddle on… and maybe in a while we will motherfucking do this all over again.”

He stares at you in astonishment, “Do what now?”

* * * * * *

When Zahhak and his little second-in-command enter your Great Hall for a second time, you are more than prepared for another scuffle. This time you are seated at your throne, the mutant perched upon its arm and your Legislacerator standing on the other side. Like this, you were ready to take on many more trolls than just the over-muscled blueblood and his little olive terror, even if the large sack over his shoulder was a bit disconcerting; you kind of hope that it is weaponry, just so you can take pleasure in fighting the hulking man again and beating him this time- without help from either of your little assistants.

The indigoblood looks none too pleased to see your precious tiny spitstorm of rage looking a little anxious sitting next to you, but he simply grits his teeth and says nothing. The smug look on the girl’s face is slightly concerning, however. Either she just won some kind of wager that your companion would still be alive, or she was pleased to have another chance to tease the poor kid. They come to a stop a respectable distance from you, where the tiny oliveblood gives an awkward curtsy before elbowing her companion just above the hip. He mumbles something rude as he gives a half-bow, still not taking his eyes off any of you.

“To be honest, we were not really expecting you to come back on schedule,” began your tealblood, “but I suppose that makes it a good thing that I went ahead and drew up the new contracts anyway. Provided, of course, that the Grand Highblood still wants to have anything to do with the whole thing.”

“We’ll motherfucking see,” you grumble. “Depends on the motherfucker’s manners.”

“Aw, but we even went through all the trouble of catching some seafood for you, Gamz!” whined the little oliveblood as she gestured to the bag slung over her moirail’s shoulder. “We were going to make it up to you, honest!”

“Seafood, huh?” your interest peaks. “Let’s motherfucking see the seafood then.” The girl’s smug grin grows even more, knowing somehow that she has struck gold when it comes to getting on your good side. She pushes ineffectively at the indigoblood’s back for a few moments before giving up and giving him a swift kick in the rear- literally. With a growing frown, he cautiously approaches a bit closer; you can sense the mutant next to you tensing up in apprehension with every step.

“I do not approve of using such bribes,” Zahhak assures you, “especially when I believe we are not at fault.” His moirail gives a weary groan as he continues, “However, Nepeta has insisted that the events that transpired were at least partially my fault-” She gives a warning snarl and he amends, “mostly my fault. And bad blood between us land highbloods will only lead to unnecessary divisions, so please accept this oceanbeast she hunted down for you.”

He slings the bag down in front of you, where it spills open to reveal one of those lobster monstrosities, this one a bit smaller than most. Although, its smaller size meant that it was probably a young one that would be tenderer; you can already feel your saliva glands going into overdrive. You have to admit, though, that you are quite frankly amazed that they even managed to catch the thing, seeing as how they rarely came onto land for any period of time. When you turn to see what your crimson-blooded companion thought about the offering, you are shocked to discover that he has disappeared. Looking around, you note he has absconded from the hall completely, nowhere in sight.

You assure the two visitors that their gift is indeed something that pleases you, and you have no intentions of culling them anytime soon. Things are soon patched up well enough to proceed with discussions over the terms of the contract, but there things come to a standstill. Agreeing that Serket was a murderous bitch that needed to be culled was easy; finding something to pin on her was not. Trying to get this through the indigoblood’s thick skull was fraying at your nerves a bit, so you decide to go and see where your mutant has run off to instead of clubbing in that skull with the nearest object.

“Teresis, motherfucking take care of this, would you?” you heave off of the cold stone in a fluid movement. “I have something to attend to.”

She gives a wicked grin at the challenge, immediately diving into debate to prevent them from asking you any questions. You wander through the corridors until you hear something that sounds like a person sobbing nearby. Eyes narrowing in frustration, you pinpoint the sound and crack open the door to the nearby bathroom. The kid is crouched in front of the load gaper, hiccupping as he tries to pull himself together; his face is a ghostly grey that does you absolutely no good to see, streaked with pinkish tears. The sight of him like this is enough to make you want to cry, and you have no idea what is wrong.

“Bro?” you hover at the doorway. Surprised, he jumps a little and looks over at you, which was apparently a mistake. Instantly turning even paler, he turns back to the load gaper and proceeds to eject the rest of his breakfast, dry heaving when there was nothing left for his stomach to empty.

“You si-*hic* fuckers,” he gasps between heaves as he tries to get himself under control long enough to talk. “How- How could *hic* you, you-you fucking bastards? I-I- urk!”

He is so obviously in distress that you see no choice but to cram yourself into the small chamber and scrunch down behind him, “Shoosh! Shooooosh!” You pat his back in soothing circles, trying to play the moirail he so desperately needs. It is utterly the wrong quadrant, but you see no choice. You cannot profess to pity someone and then just sit by and watch them fall apart at the seams.

“Gerroff me!” he slurs. “I *hic* don’t wanyou *hic* touchinme righnow! You-You *hic* were going to *hic* gointo *hic*- HOW COULD Y-YOU?”

“Shoosh-a-shoosh!” you reply, pulling him towards you as the heaving had stopped for the moment. You turn him around and fold him into your arms and draw your legs up around him as if you can shelter him from the entirety of the world. And he clings to you as if he believes that you can. “Shoosh, shoosh. There, there. You have to motherfucking tell Gamz what is wrong, little motherfucker, or he can’t be fixing it, you know?”

“How could you *hic* not- How c-could you-” He struggles for a moment before wailing into your chest, “He was my *hic* G-Gogdamn _lusus_ , you jerk! A-And you were *hic* j-just going to-to EAT that thing i-i-in front of me?”

Oh. Everything clicks into place as simply as a notch on a bowstring. The boy’s lusus that had the same blood mutation as he has, and had been culled for it. Shamed by your insensitivity for a moment, you feel your face begin to burn. However, you had no idea what animal his lusus was, so there was no way you could have prevented this episode.

“Now, nobody motherfucking knew who your lusus was, little man,” you try to smooth things over. “You never said more than two sentences about him, and you never told me that he was a motherfucking lobster-monster-”

“Crabdad,” he corrects you. “I c-called him *hic* Crabdad.”

You blink a few times, not wanting to correct him that the beast was actually a lobster that should have spent most of its life in the water. Saltwater, as a matter of fact. How the damn thing ever found its way to the deep inlands to raise a lowblood mutant is completely beyond you. Actually, even more disconcerting was how the two of them shared the same blood color; the crimson must be a result of some sort of hemochrome loss. Shaking your head, you decide that you are not going to dwell on the matter at the moment.

“Okay, well nobody had their motherfucking know on about Crabdad,” you nuzzle the top of his head. “But now we do, so it is not going to motherfucking happen again. We will get rid of it, and no one will even think about bringing any more into this hive, okay?” He hiccups and nods, obviously too emotionally spent to bother arguing with you anymore. You rub at his face with the hem of your shirt, scrubbing the tearstains away until you cannot see the slightest trace of pink anywhere. And when he tips his face up, you oblige him with a feathering of kisses all over his petite face.

Things are starting to heat up inside the enclosed space, but neither of you seem to be willing to break it off to relocate. You cautiously introduce your tongue to the recesses of his mouth, licking the oddly dull-edged fangs with relish when he seems to be more than okay with this line of exploration. It is not until you attempt to slide a hand up under his shirt that he suddenly freaks out. In his explosion of panic, a palm connects with your nose as he struggles free from your grasp; the flood of purple actually causes him more terror than anything else.

“Oh, fuck! Sorry, I- uh, fuck! I’m gonna just- Shitfire, I’m just gonna go!” he absconds for the second time tonight. After the blood stops flowing, it takes you a few minutes to clean up and apply enough facepaint so that your moirail won’t ask any questions when you return. By the time you renter the Great Hall, she is wrapping things up with the two interlopers. The oliveblood actually bounds up to you and asks where your ‘little Karkitty’ has gone to when the others are distracted, but you do not have a satisfactory answer.

You sign on the dotted lines and give your usual purple wax seal on all the necessary documents, but your head is not in business matters. The thought of upsetting him enough for him to strike out like that distresses you; you never should have pushed things so far when he was still coming down from his emotional overload. Not trying to pail hiccupping trolls was like the first sex rule ever invented- unless, of course, you were in a really bad blackrom. Then basically anything goes. On the other hand, you are not in a blackrom of any kind.

When you return to your quarters, you are not surprised that he is not waiting for you there. The kid is probably going to be cooling off for a few nights or so- you had better get used to sleeping alone again. However, the problem becomes apparent when the mutant does not show up for breakfast the next evening. Anxiety finally winning over common sense after he misses lunch as well, you find yourself knocking on the door to his room as if the whole damn hive did not belong to you in the first place. When he doesn’t answer, you open the door, fully expecting to find him holed up in his recuperacoon.

But he is not there. You glance around the room, but it is so sparsely embellished that you can tell instantly that he is not here. As you give the bare room another thorough look over, you notice that the white leather map is decidedly more colorful than before. Drawing closer, it becomes apparent that the mutant must have been working night and day to finish painting every line and symbol until it looked like your landscapes in the Great Hall. Every single place he had ever been is marked out in beautiful greens and yellows; even the ocean had some blues and purples started, despite his refusal to go anywhere near the water.

Just like that, you knew he was gone. He had left you his finished map of everywhere he had ever been, just as you had instructed him to create it. Thus completing his task, he saw no reason to remain any longer. Something inside you gives way, and a flood of horrid desolation fills you as it sinks in that he is really gone. You doubt that you will ever see him again, and the thought makes you want to just curl up into a ball and cry and cry and cry. So you do.


	6. Terezi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now for a fresh point of view, with 413% more color and smell references. Enjoy.

It is only just now mid-evening, and you are already sick and tired of all of the hoofbeastshit that is going on. It took way longer than it should have to realize that the little mutant was more than just missing, but well and truly gone completely. Of course, you found your moirail in a most pitiable state, crying over some of the boy’s clothes as he tried to reassure himself with those Gogawful hiccups.

After calming him down a bit and ending up just forcing him into his recuperacoon for a nap, you step into action. You sent out the guards to scour every crevice and corner of the sprawling hive, not really expecting them to find anything. The spies who were currently not on any missions were sent out to the nearby towns and villages to gather information; you do expect results from them. Anything that looked like a lowblood child of six-sweeps or so was sure to draw attention this close to the ocean; it was almost unheard of to find lowbloods on the coast at all unless they were accompanied by mid- or highbloods.

When they return, no one dared to approach you to give their statement; obviously they had all failed their respective missions. You gnash your fangs as they quickly try to decide on who will be forced to report in and put their neck on the line. In the end, they shove the blueblood forward, probably hoping that his higher caste would protect him from your wrath; either that or they were getting as tired of his shenanigans as you were. He tells you nothing you hadn’t already guessed- the mutant was nowhere to be found in the hive, some vague rumors of seeing someone who could have been him in three of the surrounding towns.

“And that is everything, I guess,” finishes the ceruleanblood on his report. “Sure seems like a lot of Gogdamn trouble over just one little tribute…even if he was obnoxiously adorable… or adorably obnoxious. Not quite sure which one I like better.”

“That is none of your concern,” you snarl lowly. “Just bring me your dear, sweet sister and be quick about it! I have a job for her and her lusus.”

He blinks a few times, “You want to bring in Jade for a tribute? She’s out in the field already; it might take a few-”

“I said get her here,” you hiss. “Now!”

He scrambles out of the room, nearly tripping over his own feet and smacking his downward curved horn into the doorframe with a loud thunk. The rest of the trolls had long since scattered, knowing better than remaining anywhere where you could sniff them out. You have surely become desperate if you are calling for the rogue asset called Jade; you have never dealt with the Hunterrorist personally even though she was one of your moirail’s personal favorites when it came to his recruits. A fearsome reputation and a distain for the hemocaste system which bordered the heretical kept most of the hive trolls from ever seeing the girl, but she also happened to be the moirail of the ceruleanblood you just saw. They were from the same pupation, and had become moirails almost immediately; although why they chose to take on aliases based on their blood color was anyone’s guess. With any luck, the woman would be summoned within the next night or so for a need to protect her palemate.

Of course, she strides in a few minutes later, completely throwing off your groove. Her smell strikes you like a backhand to the nasal glands, powerfully musky and feral from being out in the wild for so long. Clothes somewhat torn and in tatters, she has no smell of a green blush on her face that would suggest any amount of shame; only some smeared facepaint that marked her as one of the Grand Highblood’s workers. Her horns are about a handlength long and thick before tapering quickly to points, matching the ears of her Wolfmom lusus perfectly. Said lusus was thankfully outside for the moment.

“Cerulean says you have a job for me, Legislacerator,” the newcomer smiles wickedly, giving you a burst of minty white, “and also that you are apparently a very scary woman.”

“I have no time for any of his games, Jade, nor yours. You are to locate and return a runaway tribute as quickly as possible,” you bark out orders. “He should not be hard to find. He is small and young-looking for his age, with nubby little horns and a rather distinctive blood mutation that should prove helpful in tracking him.”

“Ah,” she nods, “the little ‘spitfire’ Cerulean has grown fond of. I understand that having a tribute escape is probably a first for the Grand Highblood, but surely calling me in is overkill? From what I gather, he is not a very athletic troll and probably has not gotten far…”

“Far enough to be missing, Hunterrorist,” you add in. “That is besides the point, which is that you are the best we have, and thus you are most likely to find the little bastard before my moirail snaps out of his miserable sobbing and starts snapping necks. Do you understand what I am getting at, jadeblood?”

You can smell her eyes widen at this range, “So you mean… the Grand Highblood… towards the mutant? And the little motherfucker _still_ ran off? That is a coldhearted move if I have ever heard of one. Do you want me to bring him back in pieces, Legislacerator?”

Smirking, you give her a negative. When she insists on having something with the boy’s smell on it for tracking him, you manage to creep past your moirail’s room and snatch a pair of trousers from the mutant’s wardrobe. By the time you return to the lower floors, the tiny oliveblood from yesternight is merrily arguing with Jade. When you ask questions, you learn that the two of them are black partners.

“We still work together on jobs,” Jade quickly assures you. “I mean, I don’t need the help, but the competition kind of drives us forward, you know?”

“I don’t care who does it,” you scowl, “just one of you find that damn kid and bring him back here. Alive. Whoever does so will get the full reward. A chest of gold from the coffers and the deed to your own section of land from anywhere within the Grand Highblood’s estate. Just get him back here as quickly as possible.” You can already smell the greed and anticipation coming off of them, so you quickly hand over the pants and let them go to work. The scent is given to the pair of lusii outside, and they are all off within a few minutes, noses to the ground as they search out the path of the mutant. With any luck, they would return within the fortnight.

* * * * * *

It has been three weeks since you sent out the Hunterrorists Jade and Nepeta, and you are more than a little anxious. After spending the first four nights moping, the Grand Highblood had finally emerged from his chambers, promptly destroying half the hive’s furniture in a fit of rage. You prevented him from defacing the map the boy created, as well as the fantastic landscape he had added to the wall. Other than that, you saved the single bucket of crimson you discovered hidden away in a corner; everything else was pretty much game. Two of the guards had already been bludgeoned to death with blunt instruments, and the rest were mostly trying to stay out of sight for as long as possible.

So when Nepeta furtively attempts to enter the room without attracting any attention, you immediately call her over to you. She pauses, likely glancing around for your moirail, before she approaches. Nothing about her posture suggests good news, and you allow her to blather on for a bit before forcing her to report in on what they had discovered. It is indeed not good news.

“Well, we were able to follow his scent accurately as fur as the pawrt town to the north, but then we ran into some… trouble,” she fidgeted. “Apparently the little guy somemeow managed to stow away on a ship, where he was shortly discovered and then got into a skirmish which resulted in two deaths and fur injured. Apparently the lowbloods were in favor of allowing him to remain as long as he worked, but the blueblood in charge wanted to cull him. The lowbloods won out, and they took the ship out to sea for some sort of mission. They took on the boy as an indentured servant. The only other highblood on the ship swam back to shore, so the information is reliable.”

You rub your temples, “You have got to be kidding me. He joined a lowblood revolt against the seadwellers? That little shit is so dead. Fuck! What are we going to do about the Grand Highblood, then?”

“Your meowrail is, um, really scary,” added the girl sympathetically. “I take it he was rather attached to Karkitty?”

“He wanted him red,” you sigh in frustration. “Pitied the fucker and let him do whatever he wanted and how does he get repaid? The shitstain ran off as soon as he could.”

“I’m pawfully afraid to tell you that there is nothing my hissmesis and I can do at this point, Madam Pyrope,” informs the oliveblood. “The sea is not a place that we are able to track beasts or trolls; scents are of no use on the waves… and it is likely that the kid will not survive whatever furbrained scheme the other lowbloods have planned.”

“I realize this, Hunterrorist,” you snap. “You are excused; mission terminated. Get the Hell out of here before he turns up.” She scrambles for the door, leaving you alone in the cold stone room yet again. Sadly, you are quite used to being alone these days; as the Grand Highblood’s moirail, you are a target for his random affections, but otherwise left alone by the rest of the hivemates. Normally this would not bother you, but with your moirail alternating between a depressed comatose state and a blind rage, your nerves have become somewhat frayed. If you were going to be honest with yourself, they were a bit more than that.

The only good thing about this whole episode is that you are much better prepared than the first time a flushcrush had vanished. Of course, having a matesprit die was a little different than having a contemptible little prick lead you on and then run away. The first was taken forcibly from you, while the latter left without so much as a backwards glance. Then again, they were likely meeting each other in the afterlife right at this moment, so perhaps the moral of the story was that in the end your fate would always be the same if you crossed the Subjuggulators.

When there is the sound of heavy strides and ranting, you know he is on his way- probably looking for you. Something heavy collides with the door and shatters, sounding very much like one of those expensive vases you had picked out for his wriggling day a few sweeps back. He collides with the door next, knocking it completely off its hinges as he blasts into the space in a whirl of frantic rage and the stench of desperation. The moment he spots you, you can sense him struggle to calm down and get his shit together; his failing horribly on both counts is something you have become used to.

You open your arms wide, “What is it now, my dearest?” He holds out for about two seconds before he flings himself across the room and into your arms with great, hiccupping sobs.

“You weren’t *hic* motherfucking there when *hic* I motherfucking woke up!” he accuses you. “I thought *hic* that you had MOTHERFUCKING ABANDONED ME LIKE THAT OTHER MOTHERFUCKER! I just *hic* cannot deal with all of these motherfucking lowblood shenanigans right *hic* now. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? I HEARBY MOTHERFUCKING ORDER YOU TO *hic* stay! Right here. With me.”

“I am never going anywhere,” you pet his wild tangles and remind yourself to corner him later, when you have a brush. “We are as pale as the sand on your beaches, dearest. Why would I leave something as good as that- someone as good as you? Where would I even go?” You continue to hold and comfort him for the rest of the night, eventually tucking him into his recuperacoon when the sun rises in the sky. With every hiccup, sob, and tear, your resolve to never allow this to happen again deepens. You are sick and tired of picking up the pieces every time someone makes him fall apart. There will be no next time.

* * * * * *

In the next few days you manage to get him more or less stabilized, his mental walls coming up during the night long enough for him to start to function again. He was a bit colder, more distant and cruel than usual, but most of the hive gave a sigh of relief for your efforts. Then again, they did not have to see him during the day, when all of those pent-up emotions came rushing out like water through the floodgates. He rants, raves, cries, and sometimes just stares off into the distance with a melancholy expression that you know all too well.

Mostly, however, he just calmly explains how thing would never had worked out between the two of them. When he tries to convince you to leave him because he was never meant to be happy, that is the last straw. You punch him in the nose and inform him that as his moirail, you are bound by mutual love to tell him he is being a retarded crywriggler that needs to get his act together. You suggest that he finds a kismesis to let off some steam, even going as far as pointing out he really disliked your indigoblood neighbor- maybe even hated. His smile is something lopsided and cheerless under your fingertips, but he promises he will give it a try if it will make you happy.

* * * * * *

When he comes home a few weeks later with a purple eye and a rather suspicious limp, you give yourself a pat on the back. Literally. He snarls at you, but there is no real venom in it. He had already spent all of that in his bought with Zahhak. Seeing as how the sturdy, ridiculously-strong blueblood might be the only troll in existence that could survive a blackrom with your moirail, you are rather pleased with setting the whole thing up. Of course, Nepeta had been instrumental in getting her moirail to cooperate as well. Seriously, the two of them would have been tip-toeing around their mutual hatred for each other for ages if you girls had not intervened.

“I assume you at least gave him a blue eye to match?” you smirk.

“Gave that peasant motherfucker more than that,” he grumbles as he plops down at the small table. You two have abandoned eating in the Great Hall for most meals on account of the guards would rather starve than risk getting culled by the Grand Highblood. It just made everything so much simpler.

As you pour him a goblet of mead, you continue, “That’s my Subjuggulator! As long as your rivalry stays out of the treaties, you give that blueblood everything you’ve got.”

“He wouldn’t be able to motherfucking handle everything I’ve got,” he quips the usual reply with a wry smile. “Besides, I think we would definitely have to move our motherfucking rendezvous point; his cat-girl is a little too motherfucking nosy when it comes to quadrants.”

“Nepeta is a little over zealous at times,” you agree, “but she means well. Although I will never understand what she sees to pity in that hulking mess of perspiration problems. Dear Gog, I can barely stand the stench when he is just visiting! Speaking of which, you are bathing before bed, my dearest. I do not want to have to change out a whole recuperacoon of slime just because you were too tired to clean up.”

“Are you motherfucking serious?” he frowns as he sniffs his arm experimentally. “I already cleaned up once! Can you still smell that motherfucker?”

Laughing, you reply, “I do have a stronger sense of smell than most, dearest. Although, I’m sure Nepeta’s nose is even more sensitive; she will be giddy for weeks.”

He eyes you suspiciously, “Are you starting a pityfriendship with that girl or are you just motherfucking mentioning her for no reason?”

“I don’t know about pity, but she is a good kid,” you defend. “And she is absolutely adorable! I could just eat her up, you know?”

“I can get a motherfucking idea on about it,” he chuckles darkly.

* * * * * *

One night you are enjoying a spot of tea with Nepeta and your moirail when there is a cautious knock at the door that nearly knocks it off its hinges. You raise an eyebrow as you call in the indigoblood, wondering why he was desperate enough to crash one of your tea parties when he knows that hatecrushes are not allowed. He gingerly opens the door, completely oblivious to the fact he has decimated the doorknob already by simply trying to turn it.

“What do _you_ motherfucking want?” sneers the Subjuggulator. “Can’t you see we are trying to get our motherfucking tea on?”

“I apologize to the Legislacerator and my moirail for the inconvenience,” begins Zahhak, “but you can, um, I believe the expression is ‘shove it up your wastechute’ if I am correct. I came here to talk to the tealblood.”

“Well, you have my attention, Lord Zahhak,” you primly fold your hands in your lap as you await his opening statement.

He stalls, “Are you quite sure you would not like to take this discussion somewhere private?” You frown, shifting in your seat as you consider the implications of what he just suggested. Either this was something he wanted to keep from his own moirail, which was unlikely, or he wanted to get the Grand Highblood out of the room.

“Whatever you want to say to me you can say in front of my moirail,” you counter. “I do not much care whether or not you two are in a caliginous quadrant, but you have to understand that he is still the Grand Highblood and in charge of this hive and these lands. Even if you sent him from the room, I would be telling him about it after you left to get his perspective. So I suggest you stuff it in your ear and get on with talking, blueblood.”

“Very well then,” the perspiration has made a remarkable entrance; you smell it building on his face. “I came to inform you that Serket is back on dry land.”

“What? Vwiskers is back?” exclaims Nepeta as she reaches for her helm she had set aside. “What about her pawse?”

“She appears to be accompanied by only a small squadron,” adds the indigoblood, “perhaps two dozen at maximum. There is still no evidence of her activities, but it is safe to assume…”

“That she has been back to tossing lowbloods out to sea, basically,” you groan and rub your temples. “If Spiderbitch wants to take on the seadwellers, I have no qualms against them killing each other off, but we are starting to really lose our workers to her. Loyalty and fear used to hold the lowbloods, but now her psychic powers are making things difficult.”

“Still nothing we can motherfucking pin her to the wall for?” the purpleblood licks his lips in a disturbing fashion. You know better than anyone that his lust for that woman’s particular blood far exceeded anything the others could dredge up. When faced with such a storm of platonic hate, proceeding with caution was the only thing you could do.

“Perhaps not,” you sigh. “Her kismesis is trying to keep everything under wraps as far as it goes with the seadwellers. I think the only thing we can do is approach and fine her for the loss of the landworkers we have lost to her idiotic excursions.”

“I believe that would simply dissolve into a battle if we did as you suggest, Legislacerator,” Zahhak grumbles. “She would be sure to believe we were there to cull her no matter what we said, and then she would send the lowbloods out to kill.”

“Then we kill the motherfucking bitch first,” shrugs the Grand Highblood. “It ain’t no skin off my nose if we do. The lowbloods would stop once she was good and motherfucking dead, wouldn’t they?”

“I am not sure the dear Empress-in-waiting would allow it,” you put in. “It is her moirail’s kismesis you are talking about. She would not want to deal with his whiny ass any more than we would if you killed Serket.”

“Then we do nothing?” the indigoblood snarled.

“For now,” you spear a pastry with your knife with a dark grin. “We do nothing for now.”

* * * * * *

The stifling summer’s heat has gotten to you both, and you are just now returning from a lovely swim in the sea. Most landdwellers would think you were insane for going anywhere near the ocean, but there was no real danger when you were with your moirail. Of course, the ten guards you had watching from the coastline was a nice precaution as well. Needless to say, it had been an exciting adventure, and you were proud to be dragging back your very own shark killed with your very own canesword.

The instant you enter the Great Hall, you are both completely soaked with one of the blueblood’s thin-walled, water-holding bladders that explodes upon impact. Considering you were both already wet, this seemed to be a rather brainless prank, even compared to some of his others. When you snap out orders for the other guards to locate him and bring his wonky-horned head to you on a platter, they all scatter out of the room like a herd of hopbeasts. The Grand Highblood chuckles as he wrings out his shirt over your horns, and you swat his ass in return.

Someone is skidding into the room in a rush all of the sudden, sliding into a wall as their boots refuse to give them any traction on the wet stone floor. “Um, I realize this is a really bad time, but you are not going to believe this,” begins the very ceruleanblood you were currently furious at. “I mean, I hardly believe it myself, but I saw them coming in and-”

“What are you motherfucking going on about, brother?” Makara leans over and ruffles his hair. “Did you forget how to motherfucking breathe?”

“No, it’s not that!” the troll is obviously exasperated. “I just- you won’t- oh shit, they’re already here!” Surely enough, the guards at the great doors are talking with someone, grumpy accosts turning into fearful admission as you hear the roar of a large howlbeast. You wonder why it was such a big deal that the jadeblood had returned, although you could not remember if she had been sent out on any missions lately. Perhaps she was bringing back a tribute or some other prize that had the blueblood all in a tizzy.

The smells are all muddled as at least two people enter the room, one of them large and oddly-shaped from what you could tell. Trailing behind was Cerulean’s moirail, hesitantly hanging back and smelling ever so strongly of her lusus and the wilds. Something about the stranger’s smell was familiar, but you were having a hard time placing it with all the confounders jumbling up the scent. Jade is babbling on about how she is terribly sorry but there was nothing she could do without risking hurting him or worse.

You get a whiff of cherries and suddenly you understand, “You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me!” Beside you Gamzee goes completely still, as if trying not to breathe.

“I’m home,” announces the boy before promptly collapsing to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promised a valentines day edition. you guys better enjoy it. im probably failin my exams tomorrow morning.
> 
> in other news, wow. terezi is hard to write as. not sure if i will try that again.


	7. Gamzee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Gamzee's POV again, with its usual amount of Karkat-obsession and some porn. Enjoy.

He plods into the Great Hall carrying his burdens as if he has never even left, but he did and everything has changed. Even from this distance, you can tell he has grown a bit taller; you suppose it would make sense for a teenager like him to have a molt in the last six perigrees when he has been gone. It surprises you that it has been this long, and yet you find yourself frozen in place as you watch him approach with laborious steps.

On his back is slumped a lanky lowblood who looks a bit too stretched out and thin under his clothes; something in the back of your mind suggests that his two pairs of horns are important, but you cannot remember what it could be. As if carrying a troll that obviously was taller than him was not enough, there was another troll on top of that one. The two of them tilted precariously with each step, but the boy was able to keep himself under them by sheer willpower alone. All three of them looked like they had been through Hell and back, but it was the mutant that you kept your eyes on.

You count all of the differences from the last time you had seen him. His face seems much too thin, all of his features too sharp. Darker than before, his skin appears to be sun burnt in some places, angry black patches cracking as he moves. His limbs are also too long and jutting out, you can see a good section of his forearms and legs where he has outgrown his clothing. Speaking of the tattered rags, there are far too many places where they are torn to reveal wounds in various stages of healing. The most you can say about it is that it looks as if someone had attempted to bandage him and stitch up his garments, but obviously he or she fell short at some point. He is also limping along, but somehow still managing to stay up.

You notice all of this in the first few steps, taking in everything in a couple moments as if you were on the battlefield and your life depended upon it. You see every injury, every weakness, every single thing you could use to your advantage in a fight. However, instead of analyzing these like you normally would, you only feel a mounting sense of despair and pity as you realize that this boy is literally falling apart right before your eyes. Then he lifts his bowed head, and you see the final change that has occurred since his disappearance: his eyes are definitely filling in a bright crimson color.

“I’m home,” he wearily smiles, promptly passing out and collapsing to the floor. With a rather undignified scramble, you make it to his side in record time and bundle all three of the trolls into your arms. When the blueblood guard attempts to help you, you let out a booming growl and his hands immediately retract. Seeing as how all three of the trolls are emaciated teenagers with lower blood than yours, you find it insanely easy to simply scoop up all three and carry them off to your respiteblock.

When you arrive, you disentangle the two extras from the troll you are really concerned about and place them gently on the floor. You cradle the boy as you turn on the ablution trap, determined that you were going to get him cleaned up and into a recuperacoon as quickly as possible. Then you would see about finding nourishment for the three unexpected guests. You begin undressing him with quick movements, not wanting to waste any time; it is when you move to strip off his shirt that all Hell breaks loose.

Snarling, he suddenly regains consciousness halfway- just enough to realize that he is not where he remembers and being held down against his will. Just as he starts to kick out and flail, the girl a few feet away also awakens. With a banshee scream, she elegantly tackles you from behind and pulls a blade from Gogknows where against your throat. When you go still, so do the other two as they attempt to get their wits about them.

“Let him go,” the girl is already primly demanding. “Immediately. Then perhaps I will be so inclined to allow you to keep breathing.”

“Wh-where?” the kid is blinking languidly beneath you. “M-Makara? What-? Kan, no! Oh shit, what the fuck are you doing? Can’t you see he’s the motherfucking Grand Highblood? I was out for like two Gogdamn minutes and already you are trying to saw off the head of any troll around like some sort of crazed mass-murderer! Put the knife down, woman!”

She hesitates, but pulls the knife away enough for you to speak, “I motherfucking appreciate that, Kan. Now if you would be so kind as to motherfucking get off my back, in the literal sense, I would like to get back to motherfucking taking care of my flushcrush, if you get my motherfucking drift?”

“I apologize, Grand Highblood,” she removes herself in a motion so fluid that for a moment you wonder if she really is in as bad of a shape as the other two. “I may have acted hastily in my confusion. I understand that you want to spend time with Karkat since he has been gone for so long; however, I would like to remain nearby in case I am needed.”

“There is a recuperacoon in the next room,” you jut out your chin. “Take the lowblood with you and motherfucking dump him in there. Then if you want to sleep there is another coon in the other room.” You nod in the other direction, “Teresis should be bringing you all some motherfucking food in a few.”

“I thank you for your hospitality,” she actually manages a curtsy before she stows away her knife and lifts up the gangly teenager still passed out on the floor. After she shuts the door, you turn back to what you were previously doing.

When the boy makes a fuss, you shoosh him, “Your trousers are already gone, motherfucker. Shouldn’t we get you into the motherfucking tub before she returns? Besides, I already know about all that.”

He freezes up, the terror washing over you as it pours out of him, “Wh-what? How could you…How could you possibly fucking know anything?”

You gently pull up his shirt, restraining his hands with one of yours, “Because I can use my motherfucking think pan, little man.” Just as you suspected, there are gill slits glaring red at you as you remove his thick sweater. The little mutant was not a lowblood at all. With slits like that, he looked to be even higher than you- a full-blown seadweller if you ever saw one. You lift him up as if he were made of glass and carefully lower him into the warm water.

“How?” he tries again, sagging against the edge of the tub.

“All sorts of clues,” you grin as you grab a washcloth. You cannot believe how filthy he is, “The lack of psychic power was motherfucking suspicious. The aversion you have to being shirtless. You were always so motherfucking cold all the time. Your lusus was the biggest clue. A motherfucking lobstrocity for a lowblood lusus? I think not. Those things are ocean dwellers.”

You run a finger along the scared edge of his ear, “And these. These motherfucking scars are not from battles, are they?” When he glances away, you continue, “You cut up your own motherfucking face fins so that no one would suspect. And all those ones between your fingers, too. Those were from the webbing, weren’t they? How could you motherfucking do this to yourself, shortstop?”

“He did not do it,” announces the melodious voice from the doorway. When you turn to face the girl, you note that her cheeks are beginning to tinge green. She crosses her arms angrily as she continues, “That would be his ever-so-clever ex-moirail’s work- if you can ever deign to call that self-serving lowblood such a thing.”

“Kan…,” frowns the boy. “He was fucking trying-”

“Well, he was not trying hard enough,” she returns fire, approaching the tub to sweep the kid’s bangs out of his eyes. “If I had a hundred sweeps, I’m still not sure I could repair everything he has broken. But I will try to tolerate him as long as you are still willing to keep him around, my darling.”

“Wait,” you look from one to the other, “what ex-moirail?”

“I believe it is not my place to talk about such things,” the greenblood trails off.

“Erm,” the mutant is suddenly squirming and slowly turning red. “I, uh, I left to go find Sollux.” He pauses before realizing that you probably have no idea who that is, “Uh, that would be my moirail- I mean, ex-moirail! The one from the marshlands…that, you know, had Biclopsdad…yeah, that guy.”

All the new pieces slowly clicked into place, “That motherfucking lowblood… the quadrant-hopper? You went looking for that motherfucker?” You freeze as a sudden realization hits you, “Oh, Hell no! THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS NOT STAYING IN THIS HIVE! I cannot believe you went to risk your fucking life for that scum! Hang on a moment- I’ll GO CULL THAT MOTHERFUCKER RIGHT NOW!”

You had literally turned around and started for the door when you are grabbed by thin arms from behind, “What?! No! Seriously, stop! HEY, ARE YOU LISTENING, YOU ADDLE-BRAINED IN-BETWEENER? I DID NOT ORCHESTRATE THAT ASSHOLE’S ESCAPE, SINK FOUR SHIPS, TAKE ON THE PRINCE OF THE SHARKPAILERS, AND CARRY HIM AROUND FOR THE LAST TWO WEEKS JUST FOR YOU TO FUCKING KILL HIM!”

“Then what is he motherfucking here for?” you snarl, your claws curling into the empty air in front of you. “Please tell me you are no longer quadranted. I could not handle dealing with that motherfucking shit right now.”

“ _What_? No! Dear Gog, please stop talking until your thinkpan catches up with the rest of you on growth, and by that I mean at least the next five fucking minutes or so,” he slumps a bit, so you turn around and push him back into the now-brackish water. “We both said ex-moirail, you retarded little wriggler; Sol and I are done. I repaid my fucking debt ten times over just by saving his ass, let alone the shit I had to go through to get him here. Just- I can’t- just don’t fucking cull him, okay?”

“You have given him too many chances already,” the girl replies from beside you.

“We talked about this, Kan,” he sighs wearily. “Getting him back to land safe was all I wanted to do, and I pulled it off. Now just let him be, and maybe he will go fall off of a fucking cliff into the ocean or something.”

“If it’s what you really want, I’ll leave the motherfucker alone,” you grumble, “but that doesn’t mean that I have to motherfucking like it.” He gives you a wan little smile before he slumps over suddenly, his second-wind already run out. The both of you reach out to prevent him from slipping under the water before you realize that he is already breathing through his gill slits and thus no harm can be done. His subconscious had finally taken over when he passed out, allowing his instincts to take over.

“I will excuse myself now,” smiles the greenblood. “I believe I will inform your Teresis that we will not need any nourishment until everyone has had a good day’s sleep.” With that, she sweeps from the room on legs that only trembled a little around the knees. You had to admire her gumption, even though you had no idea who she was. However, introductions could wait until after you had taken care of your flushcrush; the first item of which was getting him into an actual recuperacoon for at least a day.

* * * * * *

When the boy is still asleep when you awake, you slide out from his grasp and make your way downstairs for a late brunch. There you find the mysterious greenblood dining with your moirail as they both chat together like old friends. This is another plus in your book, no matter what she did or did not do to help your little mutant who was currently asleep upstairs. The girl spots you, and calmly sets out another plate without breaking the conversation.

“-and so he told me that he did not care what color my blood was, but if I came any closer he would be forced to ‘motherfucking cut off my head and then piss down the gaping hole in my neck.’ Obviously I had to retaliate,” she smirks as she lifted the goblet to her lips, “so I kindly reminded him of the difference between our statures.”

“You didn’t!” gasps the tealblood gleefully. “He hates that soooo much! Had a molt and he looks like he’s still shorter than just about every other troll half his age. Poor kid just can’t catch a break. What happened then?”

“I gave him some grief,” she added matter-of-factly. “He actually is not half bad in a skirmish when he is not about to collapse from exhaustion and malnutrition. Still, he was trying to protect the lowblood, so in the end it turned into a hostage exchange. He had my supplies and I had his moirail. When we realized that we both wanted the same thing, it became so much simpler to simply steal a boat together.”

“I still find it hard to believe that you made it all the way here from Ampora’s personal headquarters,” Terezi snaps up a tart from a tray. “How far was that?”

“We rowed for ten nights,” the girl purses her lips, “but Karkat would have a better idea of the actual distance. How _is_ my moirail doing, Grand Highblood?”

You take it in stride that she is claiming your flushcrush as her moirail, “Still motherfucking asleep; he needs it, though. I suppose I should motherfucking thank you for bringing him back in as good shape as he is in, but…”

“I know,” her face darkens a bit. “He is the most stubborn little troll when he wants to be, though. Anytime we were running low on food or supplies, he insisted that he needed it less than we did. I was at my wits end just trying to get him to sleep at all; he wanted to just keep moving on, even through the day. That Gogdamn lowblood apparently taught him that being a moirail only goes one way, and he is the only one who has to give. I am going to be spending sweeps just trying to get him to accept something as simple as bandaging his wounds.”

“I take it you would like to motherfucking kill him as much as I do?” you flop down on your chair with a grunt. “That kid is not staying here unless he starts motherfucking working. I would take a lady like you in any motherfucking day of the week, but I have no use for self-centered assholes.”

“If you could get him to pull his head out of his ass, you would probably find him to be extremely useful,” the girl grudgingly admits. “His psionics are really amazing, but he never seems to want to use them for anything but helping himself. The lowblood is likely conditioned to expect others to do things for him, from the sweeps of-”

While she is mid-sentence, what sounds like a small explosion rocks the rooms above you. Before the walls have even stopped quivering, you are already bounding for the stairs; directly above lies your respiteblock and the sleeping boy. Throwing open the door, you do not even pause to take in the scene; all you need to know is that there is a troll looming over your recuperacoon and struggling with your flushcrush. In a mighty sweep of one arm, you send the lowblood in an arc across the room to smack into the far wall. With any luck, the gangly bastard had cracked his skull open on the stones.

“Karkat!” you try to calm the freaked-out teenager as he flails in the sopor slime. “Shoosh there, little man! I’ve got you! Shoosh! What the motherfucking Hell was that?”

“I’m okay, you insane juggalo,” he impatiently swats at you. “I just am fucking trying to get out of this Gogdamn bed and kick some yellowblood ass. The fuck was that, Sol? Are you trying to bring down the whole shit-heaving hive down on us?”

A snarl from behind you suggests that the lowblood is not as injured as you would have liked, “What the fuck are _you_ doing, KK? I thought we were captured! Where the Hell are we?”

“At the Subjuggulator’s hive, you asshat!” snaps the kid. “Where the Hell did you think we were? Who the fuck puts prisoners in a recuperacoon? And why didn’t you try to turn the fucking doorknob before you blew it off its hinges? Dear Gog, you are the most retarded wriggler I have ever met, and that is definitely saying something!”

“Oh,” he seems to be calming down. You glance over to see him rubbing the back of his neck almost ruefully, “Now that I can fucking see him, that actually makes sense.”

“Get out,” you growl. “I don’t care where you motherfucking go right now, but you need to leave before I rip out your motherfucking throat.” He opens his mouth for a smartass reply, but a sopor-covered boot connects with his head with a sickening plop. You both look over to see the mutant grabbing another piece of footwear and hiking it up over his shoulder; in mere moments the lowblood has scrambled out the room and the boot collides with the closing door to leave a long streak of green.

“I am getting too old for this shit,” the boy droops when the coast is clear.

“Now look who’s being motherfucking melodramatic,” you smirk as you join him in the slime. “I do believe we need to be getting our sleep back on, though. You still have motherfucking bags under your eyes.” You sweep the pad of your thumb over the said offenses as if you could will them away. He leans into your touch, eyes closing as he noses your palm in a move so absolutely adorable that you feel your breath hitch. Oblivious to your predicament, he snuggles in closer and clings to you. You can feel his ribs poking into your flesh as he breathes in and out, and it makes you want to hold on and never let go ever again, because if you let go he might vanish again. And if he vanished again, you were absolutely sure that there would not be enough of him left to return back home.

* * * * * *

The next time you wake up, he is simply just studying your face as if you were the one who had disappeared for half a sweep and gone through a molt. When you catch him staring, you ask him what it is that he is looking for on your face. He starts stuttering and spluttering, and it takes you a few good minutes to get him to calm down enough to start talking normally.

“I’ve missed you too, nookstain,” he grumbles into your chest as you hug him. “And maybe… maybe I was wondering if you still pitied me. I mean, I am pretty much fucking disgusting right now: I’m too skinny and covered in wounds and those fucking gills!”

“Shoosh!” you cut him off. “Of course I still pity you! What kind of motherfucking question is that? I motherfucking adore you, Karkat.”

He gasps a little, his eyes going wide, “Oh, shit!”

“What?” you frown a little as you consider his shocked expression.

“N-nothing! It’s just that… that’s the first time you’ve ever said my name,” he beams at you. “You’ve only called me little man or motherfucker or firecracker before-”

“Karkat,” you lean in, “you talk too much.” You kiss him, a quick peck that slowly evolves into something much more languorous and passionate than you had originally planned. Then suddenly there are tiny hands fumbling with the drawstrings on your waistband, and you are finding yourself under attack. It takes a moment for you to manage to pin his wrists together and away from you, but by then he is stretching upwards, arching towards you. He starts feathering kisses over what parts of you he can reach- your chest, your stomach, your shoulders- all receive the most reverent and feverish attention. It makes you ache inside with a sort of slow-burning desire, all molten magma underneath your cool blood.

“Hang on, little motherfucker,” you gasp out as he nips a clavicle. “We can motherfucking slow down and enjoy the moment, you know.”

“Don’t wanna,” he pouts briefly before licking the bite marks he just created.

“You have no idea what is what,” you reply. “You get into some more motherfucking spiced wine, my dearest?”

“Spiced?” snorts the mutant as he trails his mouth along you. “You mean doped. No, I haven’t. Come on! It’s not like we haven’t kind of done this before! I just want to be an actual fucking participant this time, okay? I love you back, you dense fuckass!”

Surely the world must be ending for the boy to return your flushed feelings. You finally relent, freeing his hands with a gentle warning that you two are going to be taking it slow. As he pulls down your pants he reminds you with a wicked grin that speed is all relative. You think about telling him to put his tongue to better use, but he’s distracted enough by the sight of your unsheathing bulge. Then the stutters start up again.

“H-h-holyshitonasponge! What the Hell man? Are all you purplebloods built like that? There is no way that thing is going in my nook. I will fucking split open at the seams,” still talking, he has reached a hesitant hand down and begun to gently stroke it with a touch like a soft breeze that has you rolling your head back and groaning. “I’ve been with Gogdamn adults before but fucking Hell that is not happening. Nope. Nuh-uh. You are going to make me into the motherfucking queen of handjobs because that is never a thing that is going to happen. Never.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to be motherfucking creative, now won’t we?” you grin wickedly as you turn him around. He gives a small squeak at the sudden movement, but he helps you remove his pants willingly enough. One of your hands reaches around to find his own waking bulge while the other snakes around his waist to lift him up a bit more. When you pull him tightly towards you, your bulge slicks its way between his thighs.

You start off slowly, trying to be mindful of how skittish he could be, but soon you are thrusting as you pump your hand, your bulge stretching and reaching out to curl around the base of his own. He starts cursing like it was a mantra of some sort, his hands finding their way around to your horns as he clings on for dear life. Biting his lip, at one point he informs you that either you had better have a bucket nearby, or he was going to ruin a whole coonfull of slime.

Laughing as you fetch the pail stowed away within arm’s reach, you kiss your way down his neck to that junction at the collar bone. When he grinds his hips backwards into your pelvis, it serves as a rather abrupt reminder that you still have more important business to attend to. He is rocking along with your movements at this point, moaning complaints when you try to let up at all. When he comes, you are not far behind him, splattering your purple between his thighs as well as into the bucket. The resulting color is a ludicrously bright violet-pink, blasphemous to consider.

“I’ve been wondering what that would motherfucking look like,” you sigh to yourself as you stow the pail somewhere safe for the rest of the night.

“Jegus Christ you are a freak, aren’t you?” the seadweller mutant chortles, already completely exhausted from even this short bought. You are holding him up and nuzzling into his neck, but you know that nothing else is going to happen tonight besides some cuddling. The boy just does not have anything left in his reserves right now.

“You may have to wait until you are motherfucking back to full health to see just how much of a motherfucking freak I can be,” you tease.

“I’m counting on that,” he leans back with a soft moan.

* * * * * *

The next night you get proper introductions from the other two trolls. The girl is a jadeblood known as Kanaya Maryam, formerly a slave on Ampora’s ship. Seeing as how it was rare to find jadebloods outside of the caverns where they cared for the mother grubs, you were thrilled to have your second one joining your hive. The lowblood known as Sollux Captor, however, you were less than thrilled about. Not only was he self-centered and demanding, Karkat had spoiled his fellow mutant into thinking that everyone should wait upon him hand and foot. Within the first two minutes you had already ordered all of the servants to refuse any and all requests he made, and then punched him in the face when he had argued with you.

When Kanaya offered to austipice between the two of you, you knew you may have come off a bit too strongly. You assure her that you have nothing but platonic hate for the gawky teenager who looked like he had never worked a day in his life. The two of you are still practically at each others throats until the boy who was supposed to still be sleeping upstairs appears in the doorway with a raised eyebrow and a sarcastic one-liner. Amusingly, he is wearing a spare set of your clothes, the sleeves and pant legs rolled up so that he could actually find his hands and feet.

“What?” he glares at the four of you as you cannot help the shit-eating grin from forming on your face. “ _What_?! Screw all of you! My clothes don’t fucking fit anymore!”

“You have broken more fashion codes before,” shrugs the jadeblood. “There is worse you could have done than picking out the Grand Highblood’s court clothes.”

He glances down at what he is wearing with a distraught expression, “Aw, shit! Sorry, Gam; they were the smallest set!”

“Don’t worry about it, motherfucker,” you gesture for him to come over. He pads over silently and suffers to be lifted up and placed at the table. Of course, the platter of food nearby probably has more to do with keeping him civil than anything else. He swipes a pasty from the tray before doing anything else, shoving it into his mouth whole when you reach for it. You flick his nose and admonish him for trying to make himself sick, “It’s an older suit anyway; I don’t even motherfucking know why it is still around.”

“Because it cost a fortune, you nitwit,” laughs your moirail. “It could be of some use now, though. Perhaps Kanaya could use the fabrics to make you a new set of dress clothes; she is an experienced and talented seamstress.”

“She can have it, then,” you shrug. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to motherfucking fit anyone here anyway.” You manage to save the vest from a stray glob of sauce as Karkat devours a roasted featherbeast, bone and all, “Slow down before you choke, motherfucker.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” gags the lowblood. “Can you two save the gooey flushed shit for the recuperacoon?”

“Shove it up your wastechute,” the kid flips him the bird as he snags another roasted featherbeast. “You can always go back to that Gogdamn violetblood if you are that disgusted by us. Trust me, no one would try to fucking stop you.” You are not concerned at all until the meat in the boy’s hand explodes in a burst of red and blue electricity.

“You have no idea what you are talking about, you little shitstain!” screams the lowblood mutant. You are tensed and ready to leap into action, but a small hand on your forearm restrains you in a way that a whole platoon of hulking bluebloods would not be able to.

The nubby-horned troll slides down from the table, tilting his chin up in a classic display of platonic disdain as he takes a step forward, “If you are going to throw a fucking hissyfit like a little bitch just because I dumped your ass, you had better get it through your double set of horns that I am not going to take your shit anymore. I don’t want you in any of my quadrants, not even the caliginous one. If you want to have some grief, we are going to have some grief, but you do not take it out on everyone else. Got it?”

The replying grin looks more than a little demented with the over abundance of fangs sticking out at odd angles, “Then I guess we’re going to have to settle this like real trolls.”


	8. Karkat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have decided that I like Karkat's POV best. And especially when it involves him and Kanaya.

When your former moirail-slash-matesprit-slash-kismesis-slash-mobius-double-reacharound-douchebag-of-a-quadrantmate knocks you flat on your ass with his psionics, you are not much surprised. He had always been bad at physical fights, and you knew that he would rather rely on his abilities rather than face you in a proper brawl. As you scramble to your feet and out of the way of the next attack, you are just thankful that neither of your new redmates are getting involved. They understand that this is your fight, even if they don’t agree with it.

You reach for your knife and lunge forward, hoping to get close to him before he manages to hit you again with his psionics. A bolt of red and blue grazes you, and you can taste the static dryness in the back of your throat. However, you have always been at a disadvantage against those with psychic abilities as a close-range specialist, and you have more than a few tricks up your sleeves. Combining this with the fact you know all of Sollux’s weaknesses, it takes just some simple maneuvering to draw him in. By concentrating on simply dodging, you can feel his frustration rising and his moves getting more reckless; his pride and cocky attitude had always been his biggest fault.

He starts lobbing psionics left and right as his feet leave the floor, but you are growing closer and closer with each dodge. When you have drawn close enough, you lunge forward and tackle him to the ground, pulling the blade to his throat as quickly as possible. He snarls and you feel the rippling of electricity around you, but you press down with the blade until it nicks him and draws up a few beads of that mustard-colored blood. After a few moments of intense internal struggle, he goes limp in submission for probably the first time in his life.

You glance around and take stock of the room before retracting your knife, “You are so cleaning up this fucking mess.” You slide off of him and to the side, resisting the urge to kick him while he’s down just for all the times he had done the same. The room is mostly still in one piece, but there are patches of stones that have been blackened with the red and blue electricity and a few chairs look like they have been demolished and burned at the same time. The faintly amazed expressions on the Grand Highblood and his Legislacerator’s faces amuse you to no end, but they had not been around to see the last few perigrees of your training.

“I didn’t even know you could motherfucking fight,” frowns Makara. “Where did you get that blade, anyway?”

“We looted a few of Ampora’s soldiers before we escaped,” you shrug. “Unfortunately, hardly any of the bastards use normal fucking weapons, so we ended up just taking the daggers they had on them. Actually, I could probably hock this thing for quite a bit.” You contemplate the ornamental dagger in your hand, encrusted with gold and pearls; it was probably some sort of ceremonial thing that really was not meant to be sharpened and used.

“Well, don’t you just reek of highblood?” cackles the tealblood gleefully. “You are gilded to the gills!” You grimace at her wording and stow the blade away for the time being as the lowblood kind of sulks to his feet and slouches away. Even though you know he will turn up again later to cause more trouble, you would prefer if he stayed where you could see him. Who knew what trouble the idiot would get into on his own?

“What would you motherfucking consider a normal weapon?” the highblood asks curiously as he beckons for you to return to your seat next to him.

“Personally, I use curved blades,” you return to your important business of stuffing your face. “Gog, I fucking miss my sickles. Anything with a blade is pretty freaking normal for inlanders, so I guess I just don’t know what to fucking do with a harpoon gun. What is the use of only having one shot, anyway? It almost takes the sport out of fighting a squadron of seadweller goons. Almost.”

“He does have a point,” concedes your new moirail. “Lower castes tend to use close range weapons, while the higher bloods use long range ones. I myself am more comfortable with slashing blades as well, but swords, spears, knives, and axes are all very common.”

“We’ll have to work on both of your fighting skills,” muses Terezi. “Although you both can probably hold your own in a skirmish, most of the fighting you see around the hive is sectioned off into duels. Highbloods like to personally avenge perceived wrongs like that.”

“I don’t see the fucking point in introducing rules to fighting,” you grumble. “No one ever follows them in the first place. It’s like saying ‘oh, hey! I have a great idea! Wouldn’t it be more fair and sporting if everyone fought using these rules I just made up?’ But then you realize that if you did fight using those rules, you would have your ass owned by someone; so you rationalize that ignoring the rules is okay as long as you are the one walking away.”

“No, no, no!” argues the tealblood. “It is a point of honor! If you can win while still following the rules, even if your opponent does not, then you are obviously the better troll. Hell, even if you lose while following the rules you are spared a culling half the time! Dedication like that is a mark of loyalty, and that is the one thing highbloods value the most.”

“If you say so,” you frown, trying to ignore the way the purpleblood was attempting to hand feed you like some sort of featherbeast wriggler. “But I don’t have any plans on challenging anyone to a fucking duel. Ever. That would probably be the worst idea my salt-rusted thinkpan could ever come up with, no matter the circumstances.”

“Anyway, we want to motherfucking ask you about your journey,” begins Makara.

“Specifically, where all you have been,” amends the Legislacerator.

You groan as you finally accept the food from the highblood’s hand, “I should have known you crazy fuckers would want a map update.”

* * * * * *

It takes about a week to accurately sketch and then paint the new areas you had roamed on the large strip of white leather. When you are reluctant to include most of your time on the ocean, you have to argue with Terezi that there were very few landmarks on the open sea. Pairing that with the fact that most of the places you had been were ships that have long since been moved, there was very little you actually could map out. Most of it is the coastline you traveled up and down as you went from landing points to and from the Grand Highblood’s hive, and the rest is a few small islands you stopped off at during your journey.

At the moment, you are putting your finishing touches on the last of these islands when you moirail sweeps into your room, “Please tell me you are almost finished, darling.”

You glance over at her, “Almost. Why? What’s fucking falling apart _now_?”

“Nothing at the moment,” she grins, “but your highblood is starting to get a little skittish with you spending all your time holed up in here. We are both concerned that you have not been eating or sleeping enough.”

“You two are going to turn me into a round little wriggler,” you snort. “I’m fine. You don’t have to come in here and try to shove food down my Gogdamn throat every couple of hours like I’m some kind of invalid.”

“I hate to inform you that most trolls do indeed eat more than once every other night,” she snaps. “And they sleep more than one day a week, too. I know you like to feel useful, but collapsing after you finish your project is just going to cause you more damage than anything else. You are making your redmates worry; that should be enough to make you take care of yourself. Unless, of course, you do not really pity us. If that is indeed the case, I will cease my meddling at once.”

“Wh-what?” you immediately turn and give her your full attention. “The Hell are you talking about? Of course I pity you! I just- I’m not used to people trying to take care of me, okay? It makes me feel all weird and useless.”

“That is just something you will have to get used to,” she pulls you to her for a hug, and you feel the pressures slipping away. “You cannot just be giving all the time to everyone. Occasionally you will have to accept that the people you want to be useful to want to help take care of you as well.”

You whine a little, “I don’t need it as much as you guys, though.”

“Hoofbeastshit,” she pulls away a little to frown down at you. “How many times have I had to remind you to eat or sleep? How many battles would you have gotten yourself into if you had not listened to me and just kept your head down? Would you even be alive right now if I had never come along with you on your insane escape plan?”

“Probably not,” you mumble. “But you wouldn’t have done much better without me.”

“That is the point,” she rolls her eyes. “We are supposed to both look out for each other, so please let me do my part, you insufferable prick.”

That elicits a small chuckle from you, “Okay, okay. I will try harder to, uh, not try? What do you suggest? I mean, I’ve basically finished here, so…”

“First and foremost, you need a bath,” she scrunches up her nose in a comedic fashion that does not suit her at all. “Then I want to check on those wounds that still have not properly healed. After that we’ll get you in a new set of clothes and get you down to your flushcrush before he ends up culling someone.”

“Wait, what? What has he been doing?” you ask as she pulls you to your feet and begins dragging you towards the ablution trap.

“You would have known there was a ball downstairs if you had come out of this room within the last week or so,” she quips. “He is becoming very flustered in having to deal with fellow highbloods that he is apparently not permitted to cull. As soon as you are presentable, we will go back downstairs and you will go let him hold your hand or whatever these highblood trolls like to do to show affection and personal claims. Perhaps that would be enough to calm him down and keep his kismesis away for the evening.”

You can feel your jaw slacken with shock, “Wait! What kismesis? What the Hell has been going on while I was gone?”

* * * * * *

You have been washed, scrubbed, bandaged, coddled, and stuffed into clothing that looks suspiciously like it was reborn from the scraps of the Grand Highblood’s old dress suit. It even has his symbol stitched onto the vest in purple. When you try to argue that it was a bit blasphemous for you to wear, Kanaya reminds you that such sigils are expected to be worn by those who are quadranted with highbloods, and as a mutant, you were in a lot more need of this simple protection than you would admit. You then make a counterpoint that if that were the case she would have left out the details of crimson like in the pleated sleeves. In the end, she simply paps your face and shooshes you into submission, dressing you up like you are her very own life-sized fashion doll.

After she has combed through your hair to the point where it actually looks somewhat decent instead of like you were a feral lowblood living in the jungles, she tries to polish your horns with a scrub brush. You literally shriek with the first rub from the hard bristles, and spend the next two minutes explaining through tear-stung eyes that your nubby little horns were extremely sensitive compared to most. She apologizes profusely and ends up using a rag to buff out the dirt and small scratches on them. Looking in the mirror, you have to admit that you do not even recognize the troll staring back out at you with his intensely red eyes.

Your ears are still notched with scars, and your face is on the extreme side of thin; you could probably cut someone with your Gogdamn cheekbones. A little crooked from being broken a few times, your nose is thin and a bit squat, sitting above your dull fangs like the cherry on top of a failure cake. No amount of dressing up will change the fact that you are a homely sonofabitch, and you resist the urge to tug at your collar in irritation. In fact, your hand makes it about halfway there before it is captured within two more.

“Please refrain from scratching or fidgeting too much,” she scolds you lightly. “It is a good thing you had previously trimmed your claws, or the fabrics would already be ruined.”

“Shit, sorry,” you flinch. “I feel fucking ridiculous in this getup, though. What the Hell are you trying to pass me off as?”

“How about Grand Highblood’s matesprit?” a fang glimmers as she grins.

You can feel your face beginning to heat up already, “Jegus Christ, woman! Is that what this is all about? First off, there is nothing official about the two of us. Secondly, even if there was, I think parading me in front of the other highbloods is the last thing that moronic juggalo would want to do. You are going to get me fucking culled over this shit.”

“You are being melodramatic,” she rolls her eyes. “Now escort me downstairs like a gentletroll or I will be forced to drag you into the Grand Hall by your scruff. Remember, Karkat: there is silver lining in every cloud.”

“No need to get your panties in a twist,” you tell the greenblood as you accept her offered arm. “Silver lining, huh? Uh…Luckily I won’t have to lead if there is any dancing, I guess?”

“There’s a dear,” she pats your hand fondly as she leads the way. When you reach the stairs and the sounds of talking and movement reach you, you freeze in place; it sounds like there are at least forty trolls below. Considering there are only fifteen trolls in the hive, including you and your moirail, that means there are over twenty guests. Twenty strange trolls that do not know you are the Grand Highblood’s flushcrush. Twenty trolls that would cull you as soon as they catch sight of your eyes or blood. You can feel your panic rising.

“Shoosh,” there is a soothing hand petting your hair, probably an attempt in vain to get it to lay flat. “No one is going to let anything happen to you. Now stop being such a wriggler and escort a lady down the stairs, darling.”

“Shitfuckinghell,” you let out a great gust of air. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do this before I regain my survival instinct and bolt for the nearest window.” She smiles knowingly at your antics like an indulgent mothering cluckbeast and begins her elegant sweep down the stairs. Her calming presence and steadying hand over yours is all that keeps you grounded as the fear slowly rises when you draw ever closer to the crowds below. You see there are indeed quite a few highbloods milling around downstairs, but almost all of them appear to have two or three lowbloods in attendance as well.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, you are amazed that no one even gives you so much as a second glance. Apparently your small stature has finally become something other than a hindrance; you are at least a head shorter than every other troll in the room and their gaze passes over you as if you are not even there at all. Almost weak-kneed with relief, you allow the jadeblood to cart you over to the refreshments so that she can grab you each a drink. With a cool goblet of wine in your hand, you are feeling a little more like you might blend in and manage to get through this in one piece.

Of course, that is precisely when you get tackled from behind. Freaking out just a little, you struggle to get back to your feet, but your opponent has you pretty well pinned, despite not seeming to be any bigger than you. In a moment, the weight is gone and you hear the jadeblood coolly explaining that she cannot allow such roughhousing as it will ruin the suit. Turning, you feel your jaw drop as you catch sight of the troll who had attacked you.

“Karkitty!” implores the oliveblood from Kanaya’s grasp. “Tell the purrfectly horrendous lady that I was only playing. I didn’t mean it; I just haven’t seen you in furever! Purrty please?”

“She’s okay, Kan,” you haul yourself to your feet. “It’s the other one that I’d be-”

“Nepeta?” the indigoblood’s gravelly voice makes you slap the heel of your palm into your forehead. “I do not know you, Greenblood, and I have no power to give orders in this hive but I must insist that you release my moirail at once or there will be dire consequences.”

“As long as she keeps off of my moirail, I have no issue with letting her go,” returns the girl. You cannot believe that she is facing off with the hulking indigoblood. If someone does not get their neck broken, you will be the most surprised troll in Alternia.

“Nepeta, I thought I told you to leave the lowblood mutant alone,” he grits his teeth in frustration as he looks down his nose at you. You successfully resist the urge to punch him by considering the fact you would probably end up a red smear on the floor in return.

“Aw, fine. I’ll leave Karkitty alone,” she pouts as Kanaya releases her. “But there is no reason fur you to be mean to him, my meowrail. Jealousy does not suit you.”

“I am not jealous!” he snaps. “What is there to be jealous of? A mutant lowblood given to the Subjuggulator’s as tribute? A tiny troll with nubby horns and no place to go except to warm the Grand Highblood’s recuperacoon? It is like being jealous of a pail.” What you look like is one thing, but you have never had anyone ridicule your quadrants before. However, everything he said was technically true, and you have never felt so small in your entire life.

“That is very ungentlemanly like conduct, sir,” a hand finds its way to a curved hip as your moirail begins to bristle under her cool demeanor. “For someone of your standing, such comments are greatly demeaning.”

“She’s right, Eq,” frowns Nepeta. “There’s no need to be such a jerk. It is pawsitively uncalled fur!”

“What’s motherfucking going on over here?” the Grand Highblood approaches the table from one side. He glowers at Zahhak in a really sort of unplatonic- Holy fucking Hell! That would be his mysterious kismesis, then. You feel like even more of an idiot than before; at least Makara’s caliginous quadrant was filled by a troll that suited his rank. Poor sucker does not even seem to realize or care that you are the worst catch ever, for any quadrant.

When his roving eyes spot you, they light up merrily, “Good to see you got away from those motherfucking maps, Karkat.” You are saved from any sort of response by an indignant yowl from the oliveblood who had sidled next to you.

“No fur!” she whines. “You are taller than meow! When did you have a molt?”

“Wait, seriously?” you are thoroughly distracted. “I’m actually fucking taller than someone? That has got to be a first.”

* * * * * *

Sure enough, your head is just barely over the tiny greenblood’s, and she is only mollified when you point out that her horns technically make her taller. Unfortunately, later on in the night when she wants to dance with you there is absolutely no way to save face. You inform her that you do not know any court dances, or how to dance at all, but she is bound and determined to see you in action. In the end, the Grand Highblood himself asks for a dance, and there is no way you can refuse him. He manages to dance with you to one side of the room, most of the other trolls not noticing. You are thankful that no one witnesses him teaching you the simple steps, but that is not the end of your torture.

Kanaya steals you away for a dance, which mildly surprised you. Of course, she was as flawlessly elegant at dancing as everything else, and you feel like nothing more than a prop to show off her skills. Cerulean cuts in at one point and whirls you around until your head begins to spin, only backing off when the Grand Highblood demands that you be returned. You are so flustered and concentrating on not screwing up, that the end of the song catches you unprepared, so instead of fleeing to the relative safety of your moirail’s side, you kind of just glance around baffled for a moment.

“Jegus Christ! Why are they all fucking staring?” you hiss at him in hushed panic. “What the Hell is wrong? Have they never seen a Gogdamn mutant before?”

“Shoosh, my little man,” the corner of his lip jerks upward as he mimics your quiet tone, “before all your face turns that bright cherry color. They are all just motherfucking waiting for us to start the last dance of the dawn.” You cannot believe that it has gotten so late in the night that the sun was already coming up.

“They’re all going to be watching, aren’t they?” you groan quietly.

“Probably, motherfucker, but just try to ignore them. You get any more motherfucking all shy and adorable, Kanaya and I might have to fight off all the other trolls wanting to get all up in your pity quadrants.”

“As if,” you snort, but you try following his advice anyway. When you have the urge to look around, you force yourself to keep your gaze on the highblood’s face; now that you have seen it without the garish facepaint, you wonder how you could ever have found it anything other than handsome as hell. You trace the graceful bump along his thin nose twenty-two times, regardless of the fact it had been imprinted in your memory a hundred times already. His slightly frayed ears catch you eyes a few times, more for the sparkle of his newly adorned gold earrings than their actual surface, but you study that as well. His regal high cheekbones mark him as a highblood, something that you can only manage to pull off when faking as a lowblood by being half-starved most the time.

But most of all you keep finding yourself staring into his eyes, as horribly clichéd as that was. You cannot help the fact that you find the purple such a beautiful color, and adults always have those eyes that you can find yourself getting lost in. Color so intense that it feels like it is drawing you in is the trademark of a fully-mature troll; something they used to their advantage when dealing with younger or more inexperienced Alternians. Before you know it, the song has ended and you have not once stepped on the Grand Highblood’s expensive boots. Kanaya fetches you to retreat back to the refreshment table as the other land highbloods begin to take their leave, each one checking with Makara before they go out the door.

“You pity him really badly, my dear,” the jadeblood smirks.

“Shove off,” you huff, still trying to keep your flush under control. Dear Lord, no wonder they called it the flushed quadrant! Your face was going to be permanently stained crimson at this rate. She just smiles and pats your arm in a knowing manner, so familiar even though you had only known each other for a short while. But you suppose that was how it was with a real moirail; they just kind of waltzed in and shooshpapped you until you accepted the fact they were making your life so much fucking better just by existing.

“You are purrfectly adorable,” singsongs Nepeta as she reappears from out of nowhere. “Nothing is cuter than a new flushcrush, but you two just take that to the extreme. You couldn’t take your eyes off him!”

“I am about to flip my shit here,” you gripe. “I am not adorable! We talked about this. At the most, I might be _adorabloodthirsty_ ; and that is on very rare fucking occasions. And screw you! What I was trying to do was not abscond in horror, being stuck dancing in front of every nooklicking highblood within a couple leagues.”

You are rewarded with a soft smack from your moirail, “Mind the swearing, darling.”

“Okay, that was uncalled for,” a scowl starts to form on your face. “It has been a long fucking week and this was a pretty stressful night. If I cannot curse in front of the Gogdamn oliveblood who keeps invading my personal space, I will eventually blow a gasket.”

“You curse in front of everyone, darling,” replies your moirail sweetly. “I am simply trying to curb it in front of the guests.”

“Nepeta is not a guest, she is a fucking terror that regularly visits, from what I am hearing,” your response is sounding a little jaded at this point. “Which wouldn’t be so bad except for the fact she is part of a package deal with- oh Gogdamn it all to Hell!”

“Nepeta!” the highblood you were just referring to is approaching your small group. “Did I not tell you to keep away from the mutant? Even if he is not going to get culled anytime soon, I want you to stay away from foulmouthed little lowbloods. You know you get attached much too quickly and they never live very long.” You flinch a bit, knowing there is no way for you to say anything unless you were willing to give up the façade you have held in place for all your life.

“What is it now, Zahhak?” the Grand Highblood is suddenly right there next to you. Seriously, how can a guy so tall seem to appear out of thin air all the time? “You always seem to be motherfucking bitching about something tonight. Actually, it’s motherfucking today now.”

“I was simply talking to my moirail,” the indigoblood grits out. “I believe it would be none of your business, Makara.”

“And I will be reminding you once again that the things you are saying are not for polite conversation, highblood,” Kanaya primly smoothes her unwrinkled skirt.

“What kind of things would this be?” the purpleblood is suddenly looking way too interested. The greenbloods both look at you, but you only cross your arms and glower back at them. There is no way you are going to be a squealer over something as childish as a little name calling; you have had much worse before than this.

But there was no need for the girls to get upset, because the blueblood immediately began digging his own grave, “I was just informing Nepeta that it is unseemly for her to be seen with someone like your, uh, tribute.”

A brief moment of silence sends chills up your spine before your flushcrush pushes, “And why would that be?”

“Because he is a mutant lowblood, of course,” was the blithe response. “As well as being a household whore-”

“Is that what you think he is, motherfucker?” an icy tone has begun to creep into the Grand Highblood’s voice as he cuts in.

“What else would you call him?” shrugs the hulking lord.

“Me? I’d call him my motherfucking matesprit,” snarls Makara. “I would get up and gone now, before I motherfucking snap your neck like my last black fling. Clear enough, peasantblood?”

“You cannot be serious,” Zahhak frowns for the first time.

Knowing that nothing good will come of this, Nepeta begins tugging at her moirail’s sleeve urgently, “Eq, let’s just g-”

“No, I want an answer,” cuts off the indigoblood. “You would really stoop so low as to choose some mutant that showed up on your doorstep over someone who could actually be a proper quadrant match for you?” You see the oliveblood smacking her forehead and feel a small twinge of sympathy for her; it must be awful to have such an idiot for a moirail.

“Mutant or not, he is still motherfucking higher than you,” smirks Makara darkly. “Get the fuck out of my hive before I make you leave.” With that, he actually turns his heel and grabs your wrist, leaving the blueblood to gaze after you both with a slack jaw.

As you are pulled up the stairs, you can very faintly hear him ask no one in particular, “What on Alternia did he mean by that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay everyone!! hopefully this chapter is well worth the wait. 
> 
> on a side note, chapters might be published every-other week from now on due to lack of free time. i apologize to anyone who might be saddened by this, but i want to keep quality and quantity up to par with the standards i have set thus far. the only way to do that right now is to use up a bit more time. again, thank you all for your wonderful comments and support!!


	9. Gamzee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee is back with- Oh hey, a bunch of quadrant stuff. And some more exposition to what troll society is like now.

Two nights later you are getting into the recuperacoon when you notice that the boy is hovering over to one side instead partaking in his normal grumbling about your imperious demand to have him sleep with you every single day. With a frown, you lean over the edge of the coon and pick him up under his arms; he is still so light that it quite frankly scares you. When you pull him close to you, you are upset to find his ribs still are sticking out like he is some sort of living skeleton. You resolve to force him to eat more regularly from now on, regardless of whether he was ‘too busy’ working on something.

Taking a moment to study his face, you note his cheekbones are so prominent that his face is starting to look like a skull; of course, the crimson eyes are not helping any. You find his button nose endearing, and his surprisingly-full lips inviting despite the blunt fangs trying to cover the bottom one. In your eyes, the only thing that mars his handsome face is his shredded ears, but somehow they just serve to give him more character. And at the moment, there is an adorable little wrinkle between his brows as he is concentrating on something.

“What is on you mind, little motherfucker?” you grin down at him fondly.

“Huh?” he looks as if you have interrupted an important train of thought. “N-nothing really. Nothing important, anyway.” His blushing face is starting to betray him already.

“Nothing at all is a little motherfucking different from something that may or may not be important,” you point out. “How about you tell your Gamzee what is going on in that miraculous little thinkpan of yours, and he’ll motherfucking decide whether or not it is important. Except everything you think is important, so motherfucking surprise ending: I want to get my know on about what is motherfucking bothering my little man.”

“I should be insulted by the sheer amount of times you said little in that statement,” he scoffs, all show to the very end. “Uh, I guess I was just thinking about the ball.”

“What about the ball?” you press.

“Did you really mean it?” he asks a little sheepishly, glancing away. “You know, what you said to Zahhak?”

“Look, Karkat,” you push him back a little so you can look him in the eye. “I would choose you over that blueblood motherfucker any night of the week. In fact, if you would get your motherfucking remembering on, that is exactly what I did. If Zahhak can’t get it through his thick skull that I am motherfucking quadranted to you, then he can just motherfucking shove off. It is definitely not a kismesis’s business who else you are motherfucking quadranted with.”

His red eyes are so very wide, “So, does that make us, you know, official matesprits?”

You pause for a moment before what he is saying catches up to you and you have to hold in a groan. Of course the kid would assume that everything that had happened between you both meant nothing; he was used to people using him however they wished with no repercussions to their actions. To him, you two had probably been hovering on the edge of a quadrant for awhile, but you were still just ‘fooling around’ with a mutant. He did not know that you had just assumed you were both matesprits the instant he walked back through those doors like a very tired, very small victor in some sort of war.

“Karkat, we have been motherfucking matesprits since you came back,” you lightly admonish him, “and quite frankly I am motherfucking scandalized that you would think otherwise. You think that I get my motherfucking cuddle on with every troll that walks through the door like some kind of teenager looking for a pailbuddy?”

If his face gets any redder at this point, he will probably have a nosebleed, “No! I never said anything like that, nookwhiff! It’s just that… you realize that everything he said was fucking true, right? That every troll probably thinks that I am just a piece of ass that you have gotten a little too motherfucking attached to, and they are all just kind of sitting around with their thumbs up their asses as they wait for you to get over me and-”

“Shoosh,” you stop his lips with your own. “Does it really motherfucking bother you what other people think about us?”

Frowning for a moment, he sort of mulls it over aloud, “Not really. I mean, I guess maybe it used to, but I guess it was more like I was starting to feel like they were right.” That was sure to be the worst thing you had heard in half a perigree, and you tell him as much.

“Look, I know you and I are kind of a motherfucking unconventional couple, in as much as most people will think, but you have got this all wrong,” you run a hand through your tangled hair in frustration. “I pity you for you, not because of your motherfucking miracle blood, even though it is a really motherfucking gorgeous color. I don’t pity you because you pretend to be a lowblood or because you really are a motherfucking sharkpailer; I pity you because of the adorable way you worry about everyone like they are your motherfucking responsibility, and how you try so hard to act tough when you’re really a soft-shelled little motherfucker.

“I pity you for a thousand little reasons and a thousand more little things you do without even motherfucking realizing that you are doing them. I’d bet that your jadeblooded moirail would say the same thing. Now you are just going to have to learn to motherfucking accept that some trolls are going to get nasty about your quadrants just because they think they are better than you. All you’ve got to motherfucking do is get your remembering on about how we don’t pity all those motherfuckers. We just motherfucking pity you, Karkat.”

His nostrils are flaring a bit and it looks like he has got some extra moisture in his eyes as he tries to reply in an even voice, “I’ll expect you to fucking repeat that, word for word, whenever I start freaking out over nothing again, asshat.”

“You can count on it, motherfucker,” you chuckle.

* * * * * *

“Are you shitting me?” are the first words out of his mouth. Not exactly what you had been hoping for, but not exactly all that surprising, either.

“We told you, Karkles,” sighs your moirail in annoyance as she twirls her canesword. “We told you like a hundred times. Dueling is a very important part of highblood culture. And since you are kind of a highblood-”

“I’m not even on the hemospectrum!” he hisses.

“Okay, even without that, you are quadranted to a highblood,” she counters. “Did you know that another troll can challenge you to a duel for his flushed quadrant? Of course not. You were raised in the jungles. Thus we are trying to teach you important shit here, Karkat. See? I used your actual name. That is how important this stuff is.”

“Look, I already know how to fucking fight,” he is holding the sword out with one hand as if it is actually some sort of venomous slitherbeast. “I don’t see the point in-”

“Of course you don’t,” bemoans Terezi. “Your thinkpan is rusted out with saltwater from your little adventure. I will try to make this even simpler for you, alright? The point is, you are going to be doing a lot of these duels, Karkat. Whether they are to defend your quadrants or your right to live for simply being a mutant, this is the primary way most highbloods are going to try to get rid of you. The laws are very strict, kid; we cannot interfere if someone challenges you. If we do, then we are as good as culled, too.”

“Wait, what?” he looks startled. “What do you mean they would cull you too? What kind of messed up system is this? Hey look, I have a great idea too: just don’t get involved then. Problem fucking solved. Goodmorning, see you tomorrow. Done deal.”

“Karkat,” you catch him by his shoulders as he actually turns to leave, “let Terezi motherfucking finish what she was saying. If you still think that it is not worth your motherfucking time after she is done, then you can go.” The kid grumbles and sneers, but ultimately gestures for her to hurry up and get talking. You can literally see the point in which he remembers she is indeed blind and he splutters a hasty sentence to let her know to begin.

“Like I was saying,” continues the tealblood, “the laws are very strict. No interference from other trolls is allowed, even if they are quadrantmates. The rules of engagement can vary depending on the type of duel, but they all basically have three basic themes. First, both trolls will fight until the opponent surrenders, or is unarmed if the duel was with weapons- killing is saved for the culling fields. Secondly, it is considered bad form to seriously injure or maim your opponent; remember, highbloods like to look pretty. Thirdly, highbloods like to see gentletroll-like conduct, so no eye-gouging, biting, scratching, or swearing. _Especially_ swearing. I know it is hard to tell sometimes because of my eyes, but I am glaring at you right now.”

There is a slight pause as Karkat digests all of this information, “So I’m supposed to make them fold without even being allowed to give them any new scars or screaming obscenities at them until their ears bleed. How the flying fuck does that even work? Do I just walk up to them and say ‘Why hello, dear sir or madam. I have noticed that you have challenged me to a duel; let us rationally discuss why you would do such a thing and then come to some sort of agreement that does not end with one or both of us seriously injured, maimed, or dead’.”

“I think your moirail has been a good influence on you, motherfucker,” you tweak his nose and he just does not know what to do with his rage at this point. “That sounded like a perfectly logical and motherfucking swear-free couple of sentences.”

“I am just trying to point out that duels are not the same as those brawls you inlanders are so fond of,” Terezi cuts in before he can come up with a retort. “For example, what would you normally do if some troll threatened Kanaya?”

“I’d fuck them up,” is his instantaneous reply. “She’s my Gogdamn moirail, woman. What would _you_ do?”

“Precisely,” she nods curtly, “but in a highblood court I would be left to defend myself if I got into a duel. Of course, the troll fighting me would have to keep in mind that gravely injuring or killing me would mean that Gamzee here would probably challenge him to a duel immediately. That is why the rules exist- to keep things from getting out of hand and spilling over into quadrants. Otherwise the highbloods would go extinct from revenge-duels; they do not have as great numbers or the psychic powers of the lowbloods, as well as having the tendency to become more unstable and aggressive.”

“That is why a good moirail is the most important thing for a highblood to find,” you cut in. “Terezi here keeps me from losing my head and culling every motherfucker that looks at me or her the wrong way. Most highbloods have a moirail before they even hit seven, where motherfucking peasantbloods can take their time to fill their quadrants.”

“Alright, so besides trying not to die, why else would I need to know how to duel?” he raises an eyebrow. “I mean, if it is life-or-death I’m probably going to ignore your fucking rules and regulations to begin with.”

“Quadrants are very greatly associated with duels,” she grins wickedly. “For example, if a troll is flushed for another, he or she has to duel either the current matesprit or the moirail. Depending on how they battle, they can be approved by the redmate no matter if he or she actually won the duel.”

“I’m not really interested in filling out my- Holy shit! Are you fucking telling me that I have to duel you, you psychotic she-devil?” wild red eyes glance from her to you.

“Well, I guess I probably should have challenged you awhile back, but you were never the more aggressive of the two,” pouts the tealblood. “Since Gamzee here is the instigator of the relationship, technically he needs to challenge Kanaya to prove that he is worthy.”

You frown, “I had never even really motherfucking thought about that. Don’t get me wrong, I had planned on culling that mustardblood motherfucker if he ever showed his face; but I completely got motherfucking thrown off when you came back with a different, or an actual, motherfucking moirail.”

“You two can not be serious,” the boy is starting to panic. “There is no Gogdamn way in Hell I am letting you fight my motherfucking moirail! Does being this close to the ocean affect your thinkpans or were you both dropped on your heads as wrigglers? I am leaning towards the latter because my fucking matesprit dueling my moirail does not in any way sound like a necessary thing. In fact, it sounds like the opposite of necessary.”

“Well…” you let out a long gust of air. “It is kind of a little motherfucking necessary, little man. Without dueling your moirail, I can’t be motherfucking claiming you as my matesprit to the other highbloods. I guess we don’t have to go there and motherfucking fight if you don’t want us to, but then what we were talking about last morning would technically be a lie.”

“Let me get this straight,” he is rubbing his brow as if a major pain is lodging itself in his thinkpan, “You are telling me that unless you and Kanaya fight, every moronic bulgelicker with blue blood will not accept the fact that you and I are matesprits? Anyone else see what is fucking wrong with this picture?”

“It sounds like a perfectly logical explanation to me,” a new voice cuts in from behind you. The jadeblood is standing there, looking as elegant as ever as she toys with one of the swords you had left out for the dueling practice. She tests the blade with her thumb, “Is there not something you wish to ask me, Grand Highblood?”

You can feel the grin forming on your face, “Seamstress Kanaya Maryam, I wish to court your moirail, Cartographer Karkat Vantas, as a matesprit. Therefore, I, Subjuggulator Gamzee Makara, hereby challenge you to a motherfucking duel.”

* * * * * *

The next night, you and the jadeblood meet up at the agreed grounds at highmoon. Your own moirail has agreed to be the impartial judge in gentletroll conduct, and no one wanted to challenge her for that right. Glancing around, you can see that all the hivemates have shown up, and several seem to have brought along friends to watch the duel. Then again, it is not every night that you get to see the Grand Highblood challenging someone for the right of courtship.

The boy is, of course, at his moirail’s side; as the prize for the duel, he is to remain on the end of her side of the field for the duration of the battle. However, you are not pleased by who is standing on his other side, being very careful not to actually touch him. Where the lowblood mutant has been hiding up to this point should concern you, but all you can think of is why Karkat would let him be so near. When you spot him reaching for the boy’s shoulder and getting shrugged off, you realize that the seatroll mutant was just barely tolerating the lowblood’s existence to avoid getting pulled into a blackrom.

Terezi stands in the middle of the field, “Will the prize and his champion approach the judge for the pledge?” The crowd falls silent as everyone looks towards the other end of the field, waiting expectantly for the reply.

“We will,” the jadeblood lifts her chin up in defiance, hooking her moirail’s arm in her own as she approaches. The poor kid seems to be a bit green about the gills; you hope that this whole thing does not give him a bloodpusher attack.

“Will the challenger approach the judge for the pledge?” your moirail turns to you.

“I motherfucking will,” you reply with a grin as you lope forward. There are a few snickers and even more whistles and catcalls at your flippant, yet standard reply. Even from this distance you can see your tealblood wince from your statement, but she allows it to hold since Kanaya has not made any move to disqualify you. All three of you gather around your moirail in a loose group, far enough away from the watchers to talk quietly.

“I can’t let you two do this!” hisses Karkat as quietly as he can muster. “What if someone gets hurt? Did either of you think of that? This is kind of a lose-lose situation for me here, you swinbeast-headed assholes!” Normally you would think this was all for show, but you can sense his panic steadily rising.

“That is why the rules exist,” Terezi rolls her blind eyes. “No one is going to get seriously injured, Karkles.”

“I won’t hurt your moirail, motherfucker,” you long to touch him, but know that you cannot do so until you have finished the duel and been approved.

“It’s not _her_ I’m worried about, bulgerot!” he snarls.

“Have some faith in us, Karkat,” smiles Kanaya. “Neither of us will be culled over a quadrant duel that is mostly just for tradition’s sake. Let your matesprit prove to me he is strong enough to protect you as I would. And I do mean that, Grand Highblood. Try to impress me.”

“You’ve motherfucking got it, jadeblood,” you grin wolfishly back at her.

“Alright, the crowd is getting restless. You two need to take the pledge,” interrupts the Legislacerator. “Together now.”

“We pledge that we shall uphold the dueling laws put forth by His High Tyranny and his loyal Legislacerators,” the two of you recite in unison, the cadence keeping your differing tempos together. “Any deviation from these laws will result in automatic withdrawal of the dueling rules. The first one who surrenders or is disarmed will be proclaimed the loser.”

“Have you chosen your weapons?” asks Terezi.

“I have,” you tap one of your standard juggling clubs on the dirt.

“As have I,” the jadeblood draws her double-edged blade.

“Then take your places,” the tealblood gives a small nod. You return back to your side of the field as the other two return to theirs. Karkat stops when his moirail turns, obviously wanting to implore her to reconsider one last time. Of all people, the blueblooded hooligan is the one that reaches forward and pulls him back towards the crowd by his scruff. Grinning, Cerulean loops his arm through his on one side as his moirail Jade does the same on the other. Apparently everyone in the hive knew better than to let your mutant have even the slightest wiggle room; this duel was going to be done, and it was going to be done right.

“Let the duel begin!” Terezi karate-chops the air with one hand as she quickly moves to the side. The signal having been given, you both lunge towards the center of the arena. You parry her first blow easily and swing at her to get an idea of her ability. She surprises you by simply dodging out of the way and lunging forward for a rapier-style stab. Just barely managing to swivel enough to avoid getting shanked, you have to quickly step to the side and back as she swings her blade sideways. You now understand why she chose such a weapon; the dual-edged blade allowed her to use a variety of attacks whereas you clubs were really only useful for swinging. Of course if she wanted to take this duel seriously and be impressed, you had a few of your own tricks up your sleeve.

With a lunge of your own, you bash the tip of one of your clubs in her abdomen and knock the wind out of her. While she is thus stunned, you move in to get her in a pinning hold and end the match quickly. However, she is having none of your shenanigans and quickly recovers to threaten you with that sharp edge once again. This time you parry with one of your clubs, the point of the sword burying itself deep into the hardened wood. Her amount of sheer strength surprises you; no one has been able to manage such a thing before. Then again, there was probably a reason that she had been able to survive as a slave on the high seas for all of this time; the seatrolls were not known for treating captive landdwellers well.

You wrench your club backwards, trying to break her grip on the sword. She surprises you by stepping forward into your range, and you take the opportunity to swing with your other club. The jadeblood barely manages to duck under the incoming attack, swooping down and ever-closer to you; using your chest as leverage, she kicks off to wrench her blade free and get some more space. The attack oddly reminds you of Karkat’s fighting style, where moving in and out of range is a necessary skill for someone his size. Since Kanaya is a good head and shoulders taller than him, it strikes you as odd she would use such tactics. Then again, you are probably the largest troll she has ever faced, so perhaps she had taken a few pointers from her moirail.

She comes at you again, this time with movements a lot more fluid than before; moving from one stance into another, she begins a relentless series of attacks that has you on the defensive. When one slash leaves your vest in purple-stained tatters, you decide that you need to step up your game. You flash step behind her, moving so quickly that she is only just realizing where you are when you are catching her arms up. In moments you have her in a restraining hold, her arms pinned behind her back and the large sword clatters to the ground.

“Not bad, Maryam,” you compliment softly as you slowly release her. “Trying to make it motherfucking look like you weren’t letting me win?”

“You take good care of him,” she primly dusts herself off, “or next time we will be engaging in a real fight.”

“Since Kanaya Maryam has been disarmed, the win goes to the challenger,” announces Terezi gleefully. “Grand Highblood, you may collect your prize!” You are already advancing towards your delectable matesprit with loping strides, the trolls surrounding him scattering at your rapid approach. Before he can so much as open his mouth, you have swept him off his feet and into your arms for a well-deserved kiss. He breaks it off a bit early, his face already an amazing shade of brick red.

“Oh dear Gog!” he hisses as he feebly tries to push you away. “Nobody wants to see you macking on me! And put me the fuck down! _Please_!”

“No can do, little motherfucker,” you chuckle as you begin to carry him off of the field. “I am going to carry my prize all the way back to the respiteblock. And calm your tits. Most of the audience motherfucking ran as soon as the fight was over. They were probably motherfucking afraid I’d pail you right then and there.”

“You wouldn’t!” crimson eyes grow wide.

“If you showed any kind of motherfucking inclination to, I’d pail you in the middle of town,” you grin wolfishly, “but that doesn’t seem to be your motherfucking style.”

“Perfect!” he exclaims. “I’m quadranted with a fucking exhibitionist! Just try to remember that I am the one that will be culled over this shit, okay? It’s a little hard for me to simply ignore Gogdamn sweeps of hiding from an ingrained survival instinct. That and I’m not entirely sure if any of these nookwiffers would be able to handle even seeing your monster bulge without passing out.”

* * * * * *

“Are you serious?” he raises an eyebrow at the candles arranged around the edge of the recuperacoon. You can see him growing more and more skeptical as he takes in the incense burners, the sheer tent placed over the coon, and the bottles of your best wine chilling nearby. “Besides the fact that our first time was in your chair in the fucking dinning hall, it’s like just now past midnight. Do you seriously think we are going to be at this until dawn?”

“A guy can motherfucking dream, can’t he?” you retort as you carry him over to the recuperacoon. While still clutching him to your chest, you begin to undress him.

“I can do this myself, you know,” small hands push yours away from the buttons. “Like I somehow manage to do every other eyebleeding morning.”

“Shush,” you bop his nose and return to the task of taking off his shirt. “Maybe I’m wanting this to be motherfucking special, okay? It is our first day as official motherfucking matesprits, after all.” At that he kind of goes really still and quiet, so you use the opportunity to feather kisses on what skin has already been bared as your hands move over his body. His own hands have made it to your hair at some point, grasping it as if his hold will keep you there.

When he jerks your head up to demand that you kiss him properly, you readily comply and move on to his trousers. For a moment you are dumbfounded to discover yet more buttons, mostly because they are rather difficult to undo with just one hand. Eventually you become frustrated at the very stubborn pants and you just literally tear them from his body; you have a feeling the jadeblood designed this particular pair to be especially hard to remove. He gasps at this, and you introduce your tongue to every crevice of his mouth as you start to shuck off your own clothes.

Thus disrobed, you climb into the coon carefully, still carrying him. Beginning to discover the wonderful idea that his tongue was just as prehensile as yours, the boy is tentatively exploring the length of your tongue. You groan deeply as you pull away just enough to speak again, and his sad little whimper when your tongues part sends a line of fire straight for your groin. You motion for him to wait a moment as you recover a small box from where you had hidden it behind a particularly large candle.

“I know that I’m a little late on introducing this idea to the motherfucking relationship,” you start off, “but I want you to be my matesprit, Karkat.” You flip the lid of the small box to reveal two matching rings of bright steel. One had a dark amethyst heart set in it, while the larger ring had a particularly vivid ruby.

You see his eyes widen and feel his lungs expand with a gasp, but nothing could have prepared you for his reaction. Quite suddenly he has absconded in a whirl of thin flailing limbs and you hear the slamming of the door of the ablution chamber. You blink a few times at the thin air, the pain in your chest slowly building as you wonder how you could have expected it to go any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait everyone!! and the little bit of trolling i did there at the end. dont worry about it too much. there will always be more opportunities to write about fluff and smut. 
> 
> again, wow. you all are showing a ton of support i never really expected. ((again, my moirail is always right.)) i will try to update fairly regularly every-other weekend, since that seems to work out best. so thank you for all of the kudos and comments- i really appreciate it!!


	10. Karkat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **IMPORTANT NOTICE:** Trigger warnings ahead! It is not my intention to upset anyone with this chapter, as the events are necessary to move the plot along (and will have more relevance at a later time). Trigger warnings include: rape/non-con, mind control, mentions of traumatic flashbacks, and more. Please, please skip this chapter if you are uncertain. I promise that you will be able to get the gist of what happened from the next few chapters.

“He’s not motherfucking answering me at all,” quietly explains the lilting tone you have come to adore instead of fear. “I am at my motherfucking wits end here! Honk!”

“Karkat, please come out, my dearest,” the smooth high voice calls worriedly through the door. “You have been in there all evening, and we are starting to become concerned.”

“Go away, Kan,” you groan. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone!”

“I cannot do that, darling. We are in the quadrant where one is actually concerned about the mental and emotional wellbeing of the other, and you are lying. Please desist this silly behavior and tell me what is wrong.”

“I said I am fucking fine!” you shriek, you voice doing that annoying thing where it goes up in pitch and becomes scratchy. “I’m just never coming out of here again, okay?”

“So this is where he’s holed up, then?” a very familiar voice drawls.

“What are you motherfucking doing here?” snarls the highblood.

“Chill out, Makara,” the yellowblood chuckles dryly. “I heard about it from your tealblood and actually came here to see if I could help. So what did you do?” There is a brief moment of silence, and you vaguely hope that it involves at least one of them leaving, if not all.

“I’m guessing from that glance that it was especially stupid, whatever it was,” concludes the mutant lowblood. “Okay, how we handle this really does depend on what happened, guys. This is kind of his default reaction to just about any stressful situation.”

“ _We_?” scoffs the Subjuggulator. “Who said motherfucking anything about we?”

“Look, I am literally the guide to all things Karkat. I practically raised the little fucker, okay? So if you want to have any chance of getting in there or getting him to come out, you are going to need my expertise. Now what did you exactly do?”

“I have no motherfucking idea what went wrong! One minute everything was fine and then I pulled out…oh…motherfucking motherfuck!” You can hear him shift so that he is against the door, calling out, “Karkat, is this about the rings?”

“Wait, wait, wait!” your ex-moirail is laughing. “You actually tried to fucking give him a matesprit ring? Oh, wow. Yeah, this is classic ‘Karkat does not deal with thinking others can actually care about him’ panic. He’s not coming out of there. Like ever. Trust me, I once waited a week and a half.”

“Are you saying that there is no verbal discourse that can convince him to remove himself from the confines of that room?”

“That is exactly what I am saying, sweetcheeks. Fucking stretch here took things a tiny bit too fast for the little guy to handle, in terms of the emotional level. If there is one thing that little redblooded bastard can’t take, it’s dealing with his self-esteem issues. Is there any other way into the room?”

“Don’t you think we would have motherfucking used it if there was? Honk!”

“Got it. Okay, you two might want to step back a bit.” There was a loud rap on the door, “KK, it’s Sol. If you don’t get your scrawny ass moving, you are going to be in the shrapnel zone, got it? I’m giving you three seconds, bitch.” You are already moving as soon as the word shrapnel came through the door.

“One moment, Captor. You cannot be serious about-” An ear-splitting boom interrupts the jadeblood’s sentence. You just barely manage to dive behind the ablution trap as the door explodes off of its hinges for the second time since the yellowblood has been here. Your head is instantly ringing as the loud noise and pressure changes rattle against your sensitive horns. As dust and debris drifts down on you in a cloud, you are unceremoniously caught by the scruff of your neck and lifted into the air by psionics. At least you had some fucking clothes on, even if they were a spare set from the long-abandoned wardrobe in your old room.

“There’s your boy,” yawns Sollux as you are dropped into the highbloods waiting arms. “You’re welcome, and next time at least consult his fucking moirail before you do anything stupid. I’m guessing even Greenie here can tell you that lowbloods have a very different culture than highbloods.”

“You piece of fuckmeat!” you are rubbing grit from your eyes, so you have no idea if he has left yet. “Psionics are fucking cheating, and I told you to leave me the Hell alone, asshole!”

“Stop being such a bitch that your quadrantmates have to come to me for help, and maybe I will. Later, KK.”

“Are you uninjured, Karkat?” Kanaya is pulling you hands away from your face and cleaning it off with a cloth.

You eventually open your eyes and blink a few times, suddenly wishing you hadn’t because all you can see is her concerned face, “Yeah, I’m fine. I was even more fine before, but that’s Gogdamn Sollux for you.”

“It has come to my attention that your ex-moirail courts disaster,” she frowns in agreement as she plucks some splinters from your hair. “However, I do appreciate his assistance if he was correct in stating that you would have remained locked up indefinitely.”

“Now that I know that it was the ring thing,” the Grand Highblood finally speaks, forcing you to look at him for the first time, “I motherfucking understand now why you reacted the way you did, and I would like to make my intentions more clear. Yes, someday I want to motherfucking handfast with you and be your one and only matesprit, but not motherfucking this instant. Could you help a motherfucker out here, Maryam?”

“What Lord Makara is trying to say is that in highblood culture, rings are simply a way to represent that you are quadranted with someone,” picks up the jadeblood. “They are still only given in serious relationships, from what I understand, but it is part of tradition to have them made up after winning the right to courtship in a duel.”

“Did you never notice the motherfucking rings all the highbloods wear?” gently asks the purpleblood. You pause for a moment to think back on it.

“Well, yeah, but I just assumed it was because they were rich ass highbloods that could afford those kinds of gaudy things,” you answer truthfully.

“Fair enough, they are rather motherfucking expensive,” he chortles a bit. “I suppose that is why they are given so rarely for motherfucking lowbloods- to only the handfasted ones.”

“Apparently even moirails have rings,” added Kanaya. “I am rather pleased with the idea, actually. It is an easy system to see who already has established relationships, and has the added bonus of also being aesthetically pleasing.”

“Please do not tell me you want me to go buy us a set,” you roll your eyes. “I’m pretty sure we are broke-ass poor and not even making enough to pay for our fucking room and board right now. Unless I start charging Gam here, but that kind of seems a bit coldblooded.” You blink, “Wow. Pun not fucking intended there.”

“Actually, I kind of motherfucking had another set made,” the highblood shuffles his feet as he gestures with a tilt of his head to the room behind him. “I thought the only reason you motherfuckers hadn’t gotten yourselves a pair yet was because of money. Sorry, Maryam. I was going to motherfucking bring it up to you tonight.”

“Consider it brought up,” she smirks in return. “Where are these rings, Makara?” He directs her to where the two small boxes are hidden away as you attempt to wiggle out from his arms. After a few moments, it becomes very, very clear that he has no intention of letting you go in the immediate future and you give up with a huff.

“Here we are,” Kanaya has returned with two small boxes in tow. “Karkat, may I?” You just know your face is brick red at this point, and you definitely do not trust your voice to hold out, so you just give a kind of hesitant nod. She pulls out a small steel ring fixed with a jade stone cut in the shape of a diamond and sides it expertly onto your right forefinger. Your breath catches in your throat at just the sight of it, because honestly you never really thought that you would ever get a fucking ring, no matter what hand it went on. At her gentle reminder that there was indeed a matching ring to finish the pair, you take it up with shaking hands and return the favor. Although you normally would consider the bright ruby a garish color, something about seeing it on her finger suddenly makes you a lot more benign about the whole not-revealing-your-hemotype-because-you-want-to-live-a-few-sweeps-longer thing.

Then when Gamzee gives you this pleading look you just about die from sheer pity and nod to tell him it is okay. He places the ring with the perfect amethyst heart on your right third finger and you just cannot believe it anymore. Everything seems like some kind of surreal dream at this point, because there is no way that you just got two official quadrant rings. Then he patiently holds out his hand (that already has a turquoise diamond on one finger) while you fumble the second gaudy ruby ring onto its appropriate digit. While you are thus distracted with the sight of him now wearing your color, your moirail dips in to give you a gentle kiss on your forehead in a totally old-fashioned pale display.

“Okay, you guys are smothering me!” you protest and struggle to once again get free, but the highblood merely chuckles and smothers you with kisses. When you protest that Kanaya did not want to see him slobbering all over you, he points out that she has already vanished. You would be mad at her for abandoning you so suddenly were she not the most thoughtful and wonderful moirail on the planet.

* * * * * *

At first there is some teasing and good-natured ribbing from the other hivemates when they notice your rings. Terezi makes her obligatory smartass remarks, but quickly subsides when she decides that cherries suit her moirail and attempts to suck on his hand, much to every other troll’s horror. Cerulean annoyingly winks for three whole nights and begins to elbow you knowingly in the ribs while making innuendos. Eventually even Jade has had enough of it and she carts him off by the ear when you suggest that maybe they should get some rings themselves and leave you alone. Sollux kind of gets this weird look on his face the one time you run into him, but it sort of seemed more like he thought you were taking things too fast than any sort of wistful or jealous thing. Which, in retrospect, was way better than things could have gone.

As for your redmates, they could not be more smug and pleased with themselves if they tried. You would never begrudge them their small victory over the calloused lump that used to be a bloodpusher, but sometimes you were fairly exasperated over all of the racket they made about it. Much to your surprise, Nepeta makes an appearance the next night with a leaping tackle into your torso and about a million questions to ask you.

“I am not talking about my personal quadrants with you of all trolls,” you groan. “Every time the subject comes up, you get way too fucking curious for your own good and it is kind of really damn creepy.”

“Aw,” she pouts as she sits on your chest, “but I didn’t get to see the duel or anything! It’s no fur! Just because my meowrail is being a hoofbeast’s behind doesn’t mean you all have to leave me out of efurrything!”

“Please Miss Leijon,” your own moirail is sighing nearby, “we have discussed the necessity of not wrinkling all of Karkat’s clothing. The majority of which involve me revoking your ‘glomping’ rights until you can prove that you are not going to create more work for me.”

“Fine Miss Hissy Seamstress,” the oliveblood rolls her eyes as she hops off you. “Just suck the fun out of everything, why don’t you? All I want to do is catch up with Karkitty about efurrything that’s happened. I can’t believe I got left out of all of this quadrant building! It’s pawsitively criminal!” You get to your feet ready to argue about that stupid nickname, but the tealblood cuts you off.

“We all realize that you are the number one shipping kitty,” explains Terezi not unkindly, “but you are from another household. In addition to that is the fact that the Grand Highblood is none too pleased with your moirail as of the moment. Since you two tend to tell each other everything, you can see why we were hesitant in getting you involved.”

“It’s not that I don’t understand,” she wails, “it’s that it’s not fur! I _told_ him he was being incredibly stupid! I really did! But he is just being so stubborn! Now he won’t stop breaking things and he refuses to come over and apologize.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” you wave your hands in front of you. “Uh, not that it’s not a nice idea or anything, but I don’t think anyone actually expects him to ever fucking apologize. To anyone. Ever. I think he’d rather turn trolls into little pulpy masses on the floor. But you can still visit and get your required nightly amount of gossip or whatever.”

“What about Lord Makara?” she pauses.

“What about Jade?” you raise an eyebrow. “Your kismesis lives here. That is a legitimate reason to be visiting if nothing else. And whatever you and Terezi have going on.”

“We’re just pityfriends,” frowns the tealblood severely as she whacks you with her cane.

“That is why I said whatever you two had going on,” you rub your arm irritably. “Jegus fucking Christ woman. No one cares what your relationship status is.”

“Whose relationship status?” your matesprit is suddenly right next to you. You almost jump out of your skin, he startled you so horribly. From the looks of the two greenbloods, they were rather taken by surprise as well. Hilariously enough, only the blind one seems to be perfectly at ease with how suddenly her moirail can appear.

“How do you even _do_ that?” you attempt to soothe the wrinkles in your clothes in an attempt to do the same to your nerves. “You are like the tallest motherfucking troll in existence, yet you still randomly materialize out of fucking thin air.”

He shrugs, “Maybe you all just don’t see what you look at. Now what were all of my little motherfuckers talking about?”

“Just quadrant gossip,” shrugs Terezi. “Apparently mostly poor Nepeta’s here, even though she is not the one sporting new rings.”

“Oh my Gog! Can you please just get over it, already?” you grumble. “You are seriously only mentioning it now to get on my last nerve in the vague hopes to get some sort of fucking two-bit rage show out of me. Well too bad. I’m all pitied out and I have no reserves left in the rage ocean to scream obscenities at you over this. Try again later.”

“Jeez, Karkles,” she smirks. “You are pretty touchy about all this, rage ocean or not. I have to tease you; it’s like a requirement due to being Gamzee’s moirail. That and the fact it is so easy to get you all riled up.”

“There is no need to be embarrassed about the rings,” Kanaya is suddenly there petting your head in the vain attempt to smooth down your hair. You’ve tried telling her that there is absolutely no way to make it anything less than barely restrained, but she never stops fussing with it. “They are simply a physical representation of our bond. It is no different than when you actually had to inform people that we were moirails.”

“I know this, Kan,” you bat her hands away from your head in frustration. “I’m just not used to fucking dealing with people so much, okay? I am literally being driven to the end of my Gogdamn patience, here. If I do not get some alone time, I will probably end up stabbing someone with my ridiculously pompous dagger that for some reason I still have. Why do I still have this piece of shit? It was obviously never meant to actually be used, and its existence is almost as pointless as that of a legless hoofbeast.” You toss the damn thing away with a glower, but there was no real venom behind it.

“Breathe, darling,” she chuckles lightly. “Why don’t you go for a walk? Is there nowhere he can go to get some ‘alone time,’ Makara?”

“Most of the motherfucking basement levels are abandoned,” shrugs the highblood. “If you’re sure that’s what you want to do, I’ll be motherfucking waiting for you when you are ready to come back.” He looks a bit pensive about the idea, but you reassure him that it just came from sweeps of living far away from any other trolls and had nothing to do with any of them. You just found seeing people constantly claustrophobic, no matter how wonderful those other trolls were.

Within five minutes you are already alone in the halls and well on your way to the subterranean levels of the sprawling hive. Luckily you perfectly remember the layout of these progressively darker rooms from your original tour of the stronghold, let alone the map you made of the damn thing. Before you know it, you are retracing the meandering path the highblood had taken you perigrees before.

* * * * * *

Of course, you should have known that happiness can never last long for you. You are wandering in the deepest parts of the castle while the sun slowly breaks the horizon. You know you really should be getting back to the respiteblock because the highblood will worry, but you find the damp, cool places deep underground beckoning during the hot summer perigrees. It is probably conditioned in you from sweeps in the marshes, where the summer meant that the water dried up and the foul creatures became hungrier. You and Sollux spent a lot of time holed up in your underground hive during the hottest parts of the sweep.

Lost in your vivid memories, you feel her presence just a moment too late to do anything about it. The larger blueblood has you slammed up against the stone wall in a trice, a blade nicking your throat and a triumphant smirk glimmering off her white fangs. You wonder for a moment how she managed to penetrate the hive so easily, and then you wonder how you could have ever been so foolish as to think that anywhere could be safe from this particular thief. If there was one thing this pirate wench was good at, it was getting her way.

“Did you forget about meeeeeeee, tribute?” her eyes are half-lidded in the darkness of the cellar. “We had a deal, lowblood.”

“I didn’t forget, assmunch,” your lip is curling in disgust preemptively. “If I had anything to fucking pay you back with yet, my debt would already be paid, spiderbitch. But in case you haven’t noticed, I am indeed a fucking lowblood. I don’t have Gogdamn treasure chests full of loot to just send off with you.”

“You don’t look like you’re doing so bad to me,” she grabs your wrist and jerks your hand up where she can inspect your rings. “Nice quality. I’m guessing your flushcrush had these made out then. Highbloods can be so fickle-”

“Hands off!” you jerk your arm away. “Those are not fucking yours to take any more than they are mine to give!”

“Well, there are more ways to square a debt,” the ceruleanblood suggestively grinds her pelvis against your smaller frame. “What do you say, mutie? Feeling up to squaring off your debt this morning?” You open your mouth to inform her just how many ways she can go fuck herself, but you are unable to speak due to your mouth being smothered by hers. When you instinctively bite the shit out of her bottom lip to get her to stop, she returns the favor by pressing the knife down just a bit more on your neck. The slick feeling of lukewarm blood oozing down your throat makes you go very still; she takes a bit of courage from that and presses up against you more closely.

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?” a rather shell-shocked voice questions. “KK? Is that, erk. Uh…hnnggh.” When the blueblood shifts a bit, you can see that your ex-moirail has a slack-jawed expression and a yellow flush quickly rising on his cheeks. Of all the lousy times to go into one of his blue/red fetishes, Sollux had to choose to do it now over the sight of a little spilt blood. You wish you were able to move enough to throttle your skull with your fists.

“Oh? I remember you,” the gambligant grins sadistically. “How fortuitous! You do not owe me anything, since the deal was struck with mutie here, but I’m guessing that you would not mind helping him pay it. Why don’t you come a bit closer?”

You can see him slowly shaking his head as if trying to wake up from some sort of weird dream, “Uh. I don’t- I mean…”  
“I said come here,” the silky voice suddenly becomes harsher. The lowblood gives a small jerk as if electrocuted by his own psionics and stumbles forward. His slightly uncoordinated movements come to a halt when he is literally crowding in right next to the two of you, his blank mismatched eyes staring at something in the distance. Although you had only seen this ability used once before, the basic appearance of one under mind control is rather easy to spot. And of all the people to be psychically susceptible to such an attack, Sollux had to be one of the most dangerous.

“Fucking shitstorm! Sol! What the fuck are you doing?” you freak out a bit as he leans in. The blueblood moves over to the side to get out of the way as he captures your face and mashes your lips together, all fangs jutting out in awkward places and poorly-coordinated movements. You flail a bit at this point, but all you manage to do is get the bitch to tie your wrists together with your own belt and loop it through an overhead pipe. With the restricted length of the belt, your toes are barely scraping the ground and your arms feel like they might get pulled out of their sockets if you struggle hard enough.

“Since he wanted it so badly, it seems a shame not to let him in on all the fun,” sneers the pirate as she pulls out a large handkerchief from her pocket. “I’m such a fucking gentletroll that I’ll let him have a turn first.”

“You wouldn’t motherfucking-” your cursing threat is cut off when she simultaneously gags you and the yellowblood removes your pants. She laughs at your emaciated body while shaking her head sadly; it is no wonder that you have so many people willing to pity you, she smugly informs you as your ex-moirail’s hands travel up your thighs. She keeps talking even as his fingers penetrate your nook, spreading you open for him. The sight of the lowblood’s mutant bulge catches her off guard for a moment, but she quickly regains her composure and he slides in the slick, dripping lengths of his twin bulges.

It has been a long time since you have had to deal with Sollux’s bighted bulges, and you scream against the muffling gag in agony of way too much undulating organ being stuffed inside you. When she gives a small moan, you quickly resolve to only give her the satisfaction of that one scream. As he fucks you, she continues to talk about your pathetic worthlessness and apparent usability. She mocks Makara’s prowess in the recuperacoon if you react so strongly to a yellowblood’s modest length, and then she continues on to say that lowbloods are built to withstand more punishment than one would believe their smaller frames could take. That was the problem with the flushed quadrant, she informed you; it practically required that you treat lowbloods with kiddie gloves when you could be using your bare hands.  
The yellowblood comes to her getting to the point where she was actually considering using her hands, and she shoves him off to the side without further thought. His bulges slip out with a sickening sound and a sort of tugging feeling as he falls, and your resulting grimace does not go unnoted. She mockingly asks if you are ready for round two, but her bulge is already snaking its way up into you and all you want to do is die. As a blueblood, she is indeed a bit bigger than Sollux, but not anywhere as big as it would be if she were a male. Still, it is enough to stretch you further and make you grind your fangs against the fabric gag as you hold back sounds from your traitorous throat.

“It really is too bad that only you were down here,” she bites down on one of your ears, hard. “I wish I could have settled my debt with you both at the same time, but I suppose I can always collect from the greenblood later.” Your immediate reaction is a shudder of adrenaline as pure rage prompts you to rip her limb from limb. In the end all you manage to do is jerk around until your arms screamed in protest and the blueblood is severely aroused by your struggles. You hang limply from your bonds as she pants in your ear all the wonderful, spectacular things she has planned for your moirail. That seems to get her off more than anything else, as she comes so suddenly that she was actually in the middle of a sentence.

Satisfied for the moment, she slides off of you and cleans up as if she were just having a regular day and she had another appointment to get to. She cheerfully informs you that ‘the mustardblood’ will snap out of it after she leaves, and that she looks forward to meeting up with ‘the prim jadeblood’ sometime soon. Then she is gone, her footsteps echoing in the dark halls as she slips away into the day. You feel empty, like a husk of some shellbeast after it has died. In your mind you are already reliving every single other time you have been used and abused like some sort of failure montage on permanent loop. There have been so many other times, that you are quite certain most of the trolls who used you as a pail barely remember you at all.

When you realize that Sollux is asking you if you are okay with a small voice that sounds as if it is perilously close to breaking, you just shake your head once, very slightly. He asks no more questions as he fumblingly removes the gag and unties your belt. You do not even complain or resist when he helps you back into your pants. Nor do you particularly care when he leads you back upstairs to the main areas of the hive. You do not even notice at the time that he is steering you down hallways with his hands on your shoulders. It is not until the door before you opens and you see your moirail’s shocked and concerned expression that you break down and begin to cry.


	11. Kanaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Homestuck! To celebrate, here is a second chapter for this update. (I only wish it was a bit more cheerful.)
> 
> So I noticed there was a definite lack of Kanaya's point of view. I had to fix that. Also, story time is my favorite time!

You give the yellowblood mutant about two seconds to explain what is wrong before you chop him in half with your sword. All he can manage is that he is so sorry and she made him do it and he never wanted this to happen and he is so, so sorry. It takes a moment for you to realize that he is also crying, and then you just have no idea what is going on anymore. Your moirail is incoherently hiccupping into you chest as you hold him, and his ex-moirail is standing in the hall just apologizing and crying. Whatever has happened, you are none too thrilled with this turn of events. You yank the yellowblood into your quarters and shut the door, not wanting anyone who might be wandering the halls this time of day to see the commotion.

Directing Sollux to go get ahold of himself in the ablution block, you return your attention to your tiny moirail. A feelings jam is out of the question at the moment, so you resort to getting him into the recuperacoon to sleep off the rest of the day. You wonder if he has been out and about this entire time; the sun must surely be directly overhead by now. He sways on his feet when you pull away to unbutton his shirt. You note that he is bleeding from his ear and throat, but the wounds appear to be superficial and not even really bothersome, let alone threatening. His wrists are oddly reddish, as if he had been scraped or, worse yet, restrained. But besides the fact that he is still massively underweight (even for a troll his size), there appears to be no other wounds.

It is not until you are attempting to relieve him of his trousers that you begin to realize what is upsetting him so badly. His buttons are not done up properly, and you undo them with a certain amount of dread. The hiccupping increases in volume and frequency as the cloth falls to the floor, and your harsh intake of breath is drowned out by them. The cerulean blue and mustard yellow staining his buttocks and thighs is more than enough condemning evidence for the lowblood mutant currently using your ablution trap, but you find it hard to believe that Cerulean would have anything to do with this. In an abrupt change of plans, you scoop up your moirail and carry him into the ablution block.

The yellowblood is relieving his stomach of all its contents into the load gaper, but the bath is already drawn up. Putting your not inconsiderable rage aside for the moment, you get your moirail into the ablution trap before worrying about anything else. He kind of goes limp into the tub, and you almost freak out before remembering that he literally can breathe underwater. His disused gill slits open hesitantly and you realize that they are rather sickly looking, dull pinkish instead of the crimson they should be. It takes a moment for you to realize that even below the water he is still hiccupping, small bubbles escaping his lips in sudden bursts.

You are gently sponging him clean when the yellowblood drags his worthless hide over to stand next to you, “Shit. I’m sorry, Kar. I really am. It wasn’t even me-”

“Then who’s yellow filth is this?” you snap, whirling around to punch his gaunt face. “I have no idea about Cerulean, but I would not put such a stunt past you, sludgeblood.”

He does not flinch or dodge, taking the hit to his jaw. After a moment, he starts talking again, “Cerulean? That goofball with the wavy horns? Just because his name is the color does not mean that was him. It was spiderbitch.”

“Spiderbitch?” you feel the bottom of your stomach drop out. “Serket?”

“Who the fuck else do we refer to as spiderbitch?” he spits out a fang loosened by your strike. “Only I never met her, so I didn’t know. I didn’t know to run or to attack or to do fucking anything besides just stand there and get snared in her Gogdamn mind powers. Oh, Gog. I am so sorry, KK! It wasn’t- it really wasn’t me.”

“Stop that sniveling!” you snarl. “He can’t hear you right now, anyway. Just go the fuck away before I really do kill you.”

He scoots back a little bit, but goes no further, “I-Isn’t there anything I can do? I should-I mean, I used to always…fuck. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what to do.”

“At least be quiet, if nothing else!” you turn back to Karkat. “So this is what she meant when she said we could repay her later. Do I want to know exactly what happened?”

“I wish I could tell you,” sniffs the lowblood. “I was wandering around the lower levels like I normally do, when I heard some kind of scuffle going on. I saw Karkat against the wall, macking with some blueblood. Well, I guess technically she was macking on him, now that I look back at it. But that’s it! Everything after that goes fuzzy and I don’t know what happened. The next thing I know, I’m picking myself off the floor with a massive migraine and KK is… he’s….just kind of hanging there all limp. And there’s blood and- and…well, you saw.

“I honestly don’t remember, but I mean…I’m the only yellowblood in the whole hive. All the guards are Greenies at lowest. So…I guess that means it had to have been me. There isn’t anyone else it could have been. Why the fuck is she even able to have psychic powers as a blueblood? That’s not even right!”

“That’s enough,” you cut him off as you pull your moirail up into a sitting position. “Karkat? Darling? Come on now, you have to help me help you. Can you try to get out of the trap?” His response is to bury his face into the crook of your neck and lock his arms around you like a vice. Normally you would consider this adorable, but right now it is just highly concerning. You have Sollux fetch you a towel and you just pick him up yourself and carry him out into your respiteblock. It’s not like he weighed any more than a few grubloaves. As you settle the two of you into your recuperacoon, you look over to see the four-horned troll has kind of followed you out of the ablution block and is just standing there awkwardly.

“Now you are being invasive,” you inform him. “I would ask that you leave us now, but you can come back after the moon has risen if you want to check in on us. I would avoid the highblood, of course.”

“R-right,” he kind of twitches in response. “I would like to check in on…yeah, I’d like that. I won’t be too far, so if you need anything, just call.” With that, he is gone. You have not forgiven him yet (and you are not sure you ever will), but for now he is just yet another troll whose life was briefly taken over by the ceruleanblood pirate. You know that you should consider them lucky for still being alive, but part of you insists that at some point the spidertroll is going to have to answer for her crimes.

* * * * * *

Sollux does indeed check on you later in the evening, when the moon is high in the sky. He slinks in and pauses by your recuperacoon, anxiously clearing his throat until you recognize him with a soft sigh. Karkat finally fell asleep when the sun was setting, but he had not released his tight hold of your neck. You ask the lowblood to bring in some refreshments just in case your palemate does awaken. He manages to slip out and back in no time at all, leaving several trays of choice morsels and what appeared to be mostly sweets before disappearing again.

It was a few hours later before you realized that Karkat was awake, more through the changes in his breathing pattern than anything else. He does not stir at all, even when you gently tug his arms from around your neck and push him away so you can look at him more clearly. The first insane thought you have is that he is going blind, because his normally fierce red eyes are dull and clouded. Then you realize it for what it is: your dear little moirail has finally had one troll to many break him into pieces, and this time he did not see the point in trying to patch himself up again. He was broken and empty; there was nothing left of the fiery fury or passionate sense of duty that you had come to admire.

“Karkat?” you tentatively call his name. There is no response that he has heard you, and he keeps staring away with those awful glazed eyes. You try again with no more success. Plucking a small confectionary from a nearby tray, you hold it in front of him for a moment and ask if he wants anything to eat. After a long, long time he blinks twice and then give the deepest and most bloodpusher-wrenching sigh you have ever heard. You toss the treat back onto the tray and you turn all of your attention onto getting him out of his funk.

“Karkat? Dearest? Come on now, you have to talk to me,” you cannot help but to fuss with his hair. “If you do not start saying something, I am picking you up and carrying you over to that pile of spare fabric and we are not leaving until we have a feelings jam.”

“It never used to be this hard,” he mutters quietly.

“What never used to be this hard?” you frown. “Talking to me? Or are you referring to how you previously dealt with such violations?”

“The latter,” he admits quietly. You have never heard him be so quiet before; it is just as worrisome as the other signs. “I never really cared so much before.”

“You…did not care if you were bodily, emotionally, and mentally injured?” you cannot help but sound incredulous.

“Not really,” is his answer. “When I was really little, I used to think it was because I deserved it for some reason. Like I had done something bad and this was just the world’s way of punishing me. Then when I moved in with Sol… it was just the price to pay for having a quadrantmate, for causing him so much trouble, for having a purpose in life.”

“And now?”

“Now…well, I guess it was easier to deal with when I actually believed that I was garbage- a freak not even on the hemospectrum. Then all the sudden things are finally starting to look up for me and…I’m just… I’m so tired of this bullshit. I’m tired all the way to my bones, Kan, and no amount of sleep is going to fix it.”

“She is bold to come into the stronghold, but we’ll take care of it,” you assure him. “I will personally make sure that she is out of the picture, and that this will never happen again.”

“…she? Wait, what? You know who- okay, fuck all that, no!” he shakes his head groggily. “You are not going after her, you hear me? So what? So she can fucking torture you too? No Gogdamn way in Hell! No to fucking infinity and back!”

“Karkat, be reasonable,” the corner of your mouth twitches and threatens to betray you, “you cannot come back from an imaginary number. How would that even work?”

He works his jaw a few times and ends up only looking like a gasping fish out of water before spluttering out, “You bitch! You never intended on hunting her down, did you? That was to get a rise out of me!”

“If getting a rise out of you was the only way to break that stupor you had over yourself, then yes,” you kiss his forehead. “However, I will say that one way or another Serket is going to have to pay for her crimes. I have a feeling Lord Makara and most of the hive will agree with me.” When his face pales the instant you mention his matesprit, you have a feeling that he was about to make an argument against that.

“We are not telling anyone jack shit about this!” he hisses. “No! I just- I can’t do that, Kan. I just can’t. It’s bad enough Sol was th- aw, fuck. I just remembered that things can always get worse. Ugh!” He bangs his head against the edge of the recuperacoon a few times before you capture his face between your palms, “I don’t think I can deal with this, Kan. How do you even face someone who was mind-controlled into boning you by a sadistic fucking whore? How is that even a thing that needs to come up in any conversation? We definitely can’t tell Gam; he’ll cull that scrawny asshole before you could, well, do anything that was faster than blinking, with how that damn highblood gets around.”

“Shoosh,” you pap the top of his head gently. “If we discuss this, it will be with you doing the explanation. If you want to leave out Sollux’s part completely, that is up to you. I would strongly recommend telling the Grand Highblood before the mutant does it himself, though. He will not stop apologizing.”

“Brilliant,” he groans. “Okay, first thing’s first. I smell food. Then we can go feelings jam in the pile to your bloodpusher’s content.”

“After you wash up again,” you smirk. “Remember, I’ve seen you eat, darling.”

* * * * * *

When Sollux stops by again at moonfall, you two have settled down from your excursions into matters of the heart and are just lounging in the pile and enjoying the sensual contact of his cold skin against your warmer counterpart. The poor lowblood looks highly put out when he enters the room and begins backpedaling almost immediately; this probably has to do with the fact that Karkat still has not bothered to put any clothes on. You call for him to wait a moment before he can abscond and you tell your moirail to stay right where he is. The two of you convene outside your respiteblock in the hall.

“How’s he doing?” gulps Sollux.

“He is dealing with it rather well,” you frown, “and that is why I am concerned.”

“Look, Maryam, I know that you think you had it rough living as a seaddweller’s slave, but honestly that is just one chapter in the whole fucking tome of awful things that KK and I have gone through,” retorts the yellowblood. “I am absolutely serious when I say that I actually can not even remember how many times I have been used as a pail, let alone when KK was. Honestly it is a miracle that we are both still alive, with the shit we went through. Just about every week one of us would get into some sort of scrape that would require the other one to go save his sorry ass, and that usually involved self-sacrificing distractions when it came to KK. He really didn’t have the firepower I was working with to just bust in with guns blazing.

“I understand that you are worried and you have a right to be, but this is how he copes. Right now he is burying all those awful memories and emotions because whenever he starts to remember, he can’t stop. It’s not healthy, and at some point he will probably snap yet a-fucking-gain, but that’s how he is. The most you can do is corner him for a jam session as often as possible and try to get him to leak some of it out.”

“For someone whom I consider a piss-poor moirail for him, you do show an awful lot of expertise in dealing with Karkat,” you begrudgingly admit.

“I was probably the worst moirail,” he grins sheepishly, “but I was all he had and vice versa. And I was, well, I _am_ kind of a self-centered asshole. I should have never pushed us into quandranting at all; we should have just stayed best friends.”

“I suppose that was why there was so much vacillating and confusion in your romance?” you muse aloud. “I always hated how you warped his ideas on how quadrants are supposed to work, but I see now that you were just as baffled about it all as he was. Both of you were just children when you decided to run off and hide yourselves away from the world.”

“That was mostly KK’s fault,” snorts the mutant. “Did you know he used to run around everywhere wearing mittens, earmuffs, and a scarf? It was cute as Hell, but it wasn’t because of his cold blood. He was trying to hide the fins. I asked him about it once long after we moved to the marshes, and he told me that Crabdad insisted upon it.

“Then one day he was playing with some other kids when one of them grabbed his earmuffs right off his head. You should have seen their faces when they realized that this ‘fellow lowblood’ they were teasing turned out not to be so lowblooded after all. Then things went south real fast. If there was an original reason there is such a schism between the two races, it probably does not help that either one tends to gang up on the other whenever possible.”

“That’s how his lusus died,” you suddenly connect the pieces. “He never wants to talk about it, but he has hinted that it was his fault.”

“Yeah, the poor sucker tried to break up the fight and then everyone’s lusus was jumping in,” nods Sollux. “When he got injured…well, let’s just say that he didn’t last long after that. Luckily he apparently told KK to run with that damn clicky language that only he could understand, because by the time they got around to thinking about whether or not KK might have the same blood as his lusus, he was long gone.”

“You were there.”

“I was the gangly kid hanging off to the side, hoping that no one would really notice him lurking. It took the better part of a sweep before I ran into KK again, by complete accident. He was roughing it out in some caves all on his own. You should have seen the looks on Biclopsdad’s faces when I brought him home. He could not decide whether he was furious or concerned, so each head kind of switched between the two. But then all my neighbors knew about the false lowblood by then, so we just kind of had to pack up what we could and head out. That’s also when I got the amazing idea to trim his webs; I had assumed they were kind of like claws or something, but once I started cutting there kind of was no going back. We wandered around for a long time before we settled in the marshes.”

“As much as it almost physically pains me to say this,” you swallow your pride and take his hands into yours, “you are very much so a big part of Karkat’s past and his life. I know things have been rocky between you two for ages, but he really, really needs you right now, even if he acts like he doesn’t need anyone. Especially then, actually. What I’m trying to say is, do you still consider him your best friend?”

“Absolutely,” his answer is immediate. “Even if he is a grade-a primadonna bitch, he’s _my_ bitch. Well, not literally. Oh my Gog, did I really just say that? Okay, strike the last couple sentences from your thinkpan. The answer is yes.”

Your face is grimacing, but you give a small chuckle, “You really are not the most elegant of trolls, Captor. I will ignore that slip of the tongue if you promise that you will try to make things up with my moirail. And then working on getting the rest of the household to not platonically hate you would probably be a good idea too.”

He frowns, “Yeah, I suppose I should work on that. And I’ve been trying, Maryam, but it seems like between him wanting nothing to do with me and my rotten luck, all I’ve managed to do is widen the rift even more.”

“Then stop trying so hard and act more like you used to when you two were friends,” you roll your eyes. “He probably thinks you are still trying to worm your way into a quadrant, with how persistent and clingy you are being. You do not have to have some dramatic reason or showy speech every time you see him. Just visit and hang out every now and then.”

“Are you two ever coming back in here or am I interrupting something?” a rather disheveled head pokes out from behind your door. You note with amusement that he is now wearing one of the many colorful outfits you created for him. “Because if not, I’m eating the rest of this fucking food all on my own and then vomiting for most of the morning.”

“After you,” you gesture grandly for the psionic to enter.

* * * * * *

The next evening there is a rap on your door and you wonder who it could be; the mutant lowblood never knocked (much to his own chagrin, a few times). You glance over to see your moirail is half-buried in the fabric pile where you left him; he simply groans and pulls a swath of yellow silk over his face. Since that appears to be the most you will be getting out of him at the moment, you go to answer the door.

“Hey, Kanaya,” the tealblood sniffs tentatively. “Um, this is kind of awkward, but my moirail is getting pretty anxious since he hasn’t seen your moirail for a couple nights now. He thinks that maybe he did something wrong again, since the little guy did not come back. I figured you would know where he was at…”

“I cannot believe I did not send for someone to inform you,” you smack your forehead with the heel of your palm. “I am very sorry about the inconvenience. There has been…an episode and Karkat is staying with me until we sort through some things. I am not sure if he is ready to-”

“Is Gam okay?” your moirail is suddenly trying to peek around you. You did not hear him shift from the pile, and you are somewhat surprised that he moved so quickly. Thus far he mostly seemed to just lounge around wherever you last directed him, as if it took too much effort to care where he was at the moment.

“Define okay,” frowns Pyrope. “He is a little mopey right now, but he’ll probably perk up when he hears that you aren’t mad at him. Then again, he might just start freaking out about why you are sleeping with your moirail instead of him; he’s been a little unstable.”

“I recognize the timing of this could not be worse,” you nod in understanding, “but this is really not something that can be hurried along-”

“Uh, there is something we need to tell him,” Karkat cuts you off again, “but it should probably wait until he has calmed down. Like by a lot. I do really miss him.” He looks at you, “Do you think…?”

“Of course,” you kiss the top of his head before turning back to Terezi, “have him come down here and we will see how things go. It would probably be best if you accompanied him as well. If we decide to begin the discussion, Lord Makara will probably need you nearby.”

“Is it that bad?” a crease forms between the two blind eyes.

“I am afraid so,” you sigh. “It may require some immediate action as well, but we do not want the Grand Highblood to overreact and go into one of his fits.”

“Okay, you two are really starting to worry me,” the Legislacerator shifts her feet. “What exactly happened?”

You purse your lips as you consider the best way to phrase it, “Karkat was attacked.”

* * * * * *

“I brought some more swee- what? What happened _now_?” the yellowblood’s faint smile quickly dissolved as he caught sight of the pacing wreck that was your moirail. He stumbles into the room, quickly setting aside the food and wringing his hands as he tries to figure out what to do, “Maryam, why is he freaking out?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” the tiny seatroll’s eyes widened. “No! You have to go! Like now! What the Hell are you doing here anyway? I am fairly sure that we are able to fucking survive without you checking in every couple hours!”

“Shoosh,” you pap the back of his head in admonishment before turning to the lowblood. “You really should go, Captor. Lord Makara is on his way down here, and he will likely not be in the best of moods when he-” You are interrupted when your door is literally knocked off its hinges with a resounding boom. Before any of you can even flinch, Karkat is getting swept off of his feet by a whirlwind of giant, angry Subjuggulator. His undignified squeak of surprise punctuates the empty space where he once stood. By the time you turn around, it appears that the Grand Highblood is finishing his preliminary assessment of the situation; that is to say, he was done checking his matesprit for wounds.

He manages to grate out one word, “Who.” It did not even sound like a question coming from the enraged highblood; it was a command.

“Jegus Christ, Gam,” your moirail seems rather annoyed with the theatrics, “it’s okay. I’m okay. Shoosh!”

“Did I motherfucking stutter?” growls the purpleblood dangerously. “I asked WHO MOTHERFUCKING HURT YOU. Don’t motherfucking play with me; I am in A CULLING MOOD, MOTHERFUCKER.”

“And that is exactly why I said shoosh,” Karkat rolls his eyes, obviously completely unimpressed with the highblood’s screaming. “It’s complicated, okay? And the last thing that you need to do right now is run off swinging your retarded clubs like you are a cavetroll on a mission to wreck shit. There will be no shit wrecking.”

The inarticulate snarl that burst from the wavy-horned troll’s throat was nothing short of blood chilling, but the only response his smaller counterpart had was to lean in and kiss him. With a shudder, most of the rage seemed to seep out of the highblood.

“Damn,” Terezi raised an eyebrow. “Remind me again why I even need to be here?”

“On the very slim chance that that didn’t work,” concludes your moirail. “And also because this is a matter that might require legal counsel.”

“I do not see why it would,” she frowns. “The laws clearly allow Gamzee to duel anyone who harms a hivemember, let alone a quadrantmate.”

“It is not as simple as all that,” you gesture towards the chairs. “To explain the extenuating circumstances, we will have to begin with the tale of how Karkat and I met and how we managed to escape and outmaneuver Ampora’s fleet.” You pause for a moment to collect your thoughts as they settle down into the chairs. No one is surprised when the Subjuggulator refuses to release his nubby-horned matesprit, and even Karkat himself seems to be content to just sit in his lap while being crushed to his chest.

“I suppose the easiest way to begin would be with a brief background on how Captor and I met,” you nod towards the lowblood. “You see, I was an indentured servant on Prince Ampora’s main vessel, the Orphaner’s Revenge, and I had been for some time. Then the seadweller came back from one of his many excursions onto land, bringing with him new slaves and supplies. One of these slaves in particular was apparently something of a trouble maker; the only way he would mind was by being reminded that his moirail’s life depended on his behavior. Of course, none of us at the time realized that this was false bravado on the seadweller’s part; he had already sold the lowblood’s moirail before they had even left the mainland.

“But he argued his case well, stating that the moirail was on another one of his ships where the two of them could not cause any trouble together. Thus hobbled the mutant had no choice but to use his psionics for Ampora’s whims, from sinking enemy vessels to creating currents for the ship to travel more quickly. It went on like this for a few perigrees, until one evening before the moon rose I was visited by a blueblood who offered me a deal. In exchange for arranging a convenient cover and mode of escape, I would repay her once I had made it back to dry land. She claimed she was mostly interested in helping me because it would anger her kismesis, who was none other than Prince Ampora himself.”

“Serket,” hisses the tealblood lowly.

“Yes, but at the time she was going by the name Mindfang,” you nod. “True to her word, in two nights a band of lowblood hooligans attacked the ship. That was my cue to manage my escape, but I suppose you should hear this part of the tale from Karkat’s point of view.”


	12. Karkat

All of their eyes turn towards you at your moirail’s suggestion, you clear your throat, “Well, I suppose I was having a rather interesting time as well. My brilliant stowaway plan ended up with a mutiny onboard the boat and me getting put on lookout duty. Which was a fancy way of saying they eventually got tired of having to help me with the ropes and made me sit up in the featherbeast nest. Oh yeah, laugh it up Sol. If you didn’t have your freaky psionics, you know you would suck as bad at sailing as I do.”

Terezi thwacks his head with her cane for you, “Continue.”

“Thanks. Anyway, the idiots got it into their salt rusted thinkpans that they needed to teach the uppity seadwellers a lesson. More brilliance all around. So here I am on this suicidal mission, freezing my ass off about two and a half stories above the deck when out of nowhere this blueblood bitch is there. Seriously, she was standing on the mast like three feet from me. How do you fuckers manage to do that, anyway? Is it just some skill you get after passing a certain height requirement or something?

“Whatever. The point is that she asked me whether or not I wanted to teach the highbloods a lesson, and I told her I did not much care one way or another, as long as I managed to finish my own agenda and get back on dry land. So she offered me a deal, too. If I helped her take out some of the guards, she would make sure that there was a getaway all set up for me. She said she’d even let me pay her back later, as a show of good faith. I of course told her to shove it up her wastechute. And continued to do so for the next three nights.

“Then I finally told her ‘yeah, sure, whatever’ and she apparently took that as a yes, because the next thing I know I am being buried in weaponry and tactical plans. Literally. She broke the Gogdamn featherbeast nest from sheer amount of junk. So I nab one of the more tolerable lowblood goons and we sort through the mess and get ourselves stocked up on enough gear to take down an army. Which I guess was kind of what we were trying to do.”

“I wish you could have hung on to some of that loot,” Sollux interrupts you. “It would have made things so much easier.”

“It would have also made things easier if you hadn’t been knocked out during the entire escape like the fucking featherweight you are,” you retort. “Okay, so anyway we were all geared up and ready to go when the fleet came into view. Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that apparently the violetblood bastard knew we were coming. We still managed to catch them off guard since we were attacking when the sun was still up like a bunch of deranged imbeciles, but it wasn’t just the two or three ships we were expecting. It was more like twenty. Again, the brilliance of our proud Alternian species is just mindboggling to behold.

“So suddenly everyone is going everywhere. Trolls are climbing nets and swinging from the masts onto other ships and just basically causing the most ruckus they can. I grab Bennet and we make a beeline for the biggest, most ostentatious one, because I figure that is where Ampora will be. By the time we get on board, the other ships are in complete chaos. Lowblood psychics are tearing the ships apart, and I’m trying to find Sol and get the Hell out of there while there is still something floating above water to ride on. Bennet and I take out the guards on the deck, and then we go below to find Sol. Who is, of course, unconscious. How the Hell did that even happen? The fight wasn’t anywhere near you.”

“I’m afraid I clocked him with a rifle butt when he accosted me,” admits Kanaya. “I thought he was attempting to impede my escape.”

“My exact words were ‘What the ever-loving grubfuck is going on?’ and you decide that is code for I am not letting you get away?” frowns the lowblood. “Awesome. You never did apologize for that, by the way.”

“Well I believe doing so now would be rather uncouth, seeing as how you brought it up,” she responds. “I will make it up to you somehow.”

“Lovely,” you roll your eyes. “Anyway, Bennet just kind of throws Sol over his shoulder and I clear the path back up to the deck, which is naturally swarming with seadwellers now. So they open fire with their harpoon guns and we return fire with the rifles Serket gave me. And now I know why I stayed a close-range combatant, because we could not aim those things worth a damn. I mean, we still took out five of them from sheer number of bullets whizzing through the air, but they were doing a lot better with their one-shot guns.

“I got a couple grazes before one speared me through the calf. Bennet was pouring olive by then and Kanaya came in at some point and started taking out guys with an unloaded rifle. I spotted the rowboat fitted out with supplies and I made it over there while we had a distraction going. I was trying to get the damn rig to turn and get the boat over the water when Bennet started yelling. Kan here had Sol at knifepoint, because apparently the oliveblood dumped his ass on the deck at one point.”

“Is that why my horn is chipped?” exclaims the yellowblood. “You said that you had no idea how that happened!”

“And I still don’t,” you shrug. “There were so many projectiles in the air that I’m amazed you didn’t catch a fucking bullet in your useless torso. Now shut the fuck up, I’m almost done. Where was I?”

“I can continue on for a bit,” smirks your moirail. “This was the part where we exchanged pleasantries, had a bit of grief, and eventually settled on escaping together. It was much too easy after I realized that you were more concerned about the lowblood than anything else. Of course, if I had kept my knife on him in the first place, we never would have had to waste all that time fighting and perhaps we would have made it to the water before Ampora himself came onto the scene.”

“Bastard killed Bennet first, so we had some warning,” you pick the tale back up. “I told Kan to grab Sol and lower the boat, and I would hold him off as long as I could.”

“I really did not think it would be long enough, with all of your wounds,” she still sounds a bit impressed after all this time. “But you lunged right towards him shrieking obscenities at the top of your lungs, so I just went along with it. Then you had to cut the lines like the altruistic little moron you are, and I really did not believe that either of us would ever be seeing you again.”

“You faced off with Ampora all on your own?” Terezi whistles in amazement. “I knew you had guts, Karkles, but I didn’t know you were fucking crazy.”

“I was _shithive maggots_ and don’t you forget it,” you chuckle. “That is definitely not a fight I would ever, ever want to relive. I think neither of us could believe it when his fancy blue rifle jammed, but then again, I wouldn’t put it past spiderbitch to stack the odds in our favor. Long, harrowing tale short: he kicked my ass up and down the deck. The reason I am sitting here right now is his humongous ego. When he knocked me off board, he didn’t even bother to check and see if I was drowning.

“I had to thrash after the rowboat and pray that some random ass creature of the deep didn’t smell my blood and eat me. I guess there was so much going on that no one even really paid me any attention, so I just kind of caught up and latched on to the side of the boat. Kanaya just about shrieked when I came up out of the water like that, but I don’t blame her. I probably looked like a dead troll. And fuck you Sol for waking up just in time to help drag my sorry carcass out of the water.”

“No worries, KK,” he grins with those stupid fangs sticking out in all directions. “I will make fun of your sodden, wet-squeakbeast appearance while making sure you don’t drown any time. Assuming, of course, that you actually can drown. I never did figure that out.”

“The point of the stories is that we both made a deal with Serket,” the jadeblood cuts in before anyone can respond. “A deal where an undetermined payment was to be made at a later date in response for her assistance. Apparently she came to collect.”

There is a moment of silence where they are all just sitting there looking ill at ease when suddenly the arms around you tighten, “Flesh or blood or cash.” You glance up to see that the highblood’s face is a tight mask of barely-controlled rage and disgust, “You made an open-ended deal with the motherfucking bluebitch.”

“Oh,” the Legislacerator frowns. “That is what you meant by legal counsel.”

* * * * * *

The two greenbloods are talking things over in one corner of the room while the highblood has settled himself down in the fabric pile with you still caught up in his arms. If he did not have such a valid reason for being so clingy, you would have long ago started taunting him for carrying you around like a cuddletoy of some kind. As it is, you are starting to finally feel safe and relaxed again, and you have no intention of wriggling out from the tightest bearhug of the century.

“Makara?” a voice that is getting to be a little too familiar again drawls anxiously. You glance over your shoulder to see the lowblood twiddling his fingers together nervously. “Could I talk to you?”

“What is it, motherfucker?” growls the Subjuggulator. “Can’t you see I’m trying to get my motherfucking cuddle on over here?”

“I see that, but I just want to go ahead and do a pre-emptive apology,” Sollux continues to fidget. “Um, KK hasn’t told you yet, but I was kind of…I got mindcontrolled into getting involved with this whole mess.”

“Oh my Gog,” you thump your head back down onto your matesprit’s chest. “If you want to die that badly, just go jump off a fucking cliff, Sol.”

“Involved how?” the highblood’s voice is oddly void of emotion. You wonder if there is anything you can do to prevent the upcoming bloodshed. You knew at some point you would have to tell Gamzee what happened, but you were really hoping to put it off a bit longer.

“I’m not exactly sure,” he gulps and stalls. “I don’t really remember anything past seeing her. Then it all went fuzzy. Um, but I am going to say that it is a pretty good chance it was involved badly and, erm, intimately.”

“Intimately,” repeats the purpleblood. “You care to elaborate on this, Karkat?”

You feel horribly put in the spot by this whole turn of events, “I’m not sure I do. Sol was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, like fucking _always_. I don’t really-”

“Blue was not the only primary color he was stained with,” cuts in the lowblood, “and neither was red, if you get what I’m saying. Sorry, KK, I know it is more your place to tell, but we both know you were going to drag your feet as long as possible.” You honestly never thought of your ex-moirail as the type that would go for a suicide attempt, but here he was, digging his own grave with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I see,” you can feel muscles tense and coil beneath you and you are really starting to worry. “I can motherfucking see that well enough, sludgeblood.” There is a pause where you swear you could count the number of stitches on your cuffs before the highblood speaks again, “I appreciate you being enough of a troll to motherfucking tell me upfront.”

“I wish I had been enough of a troll not to fall into her web at all,” replies the mutant.

The highblood lets out a gust of air slowly, “You aren’t the only motherfucker who has gotten snared by her. Nor are you the only motherfucking one to find yourself doing something you really motherfucking regretted while she has your mind to play with. Right now I am just trying to keep remembering that the important thing is that you two are still alive; that is more than most trolls who meet her can motherfucking say.”

“I got that impression from all of you,” agrees the lowblood, “but that doesn’t mean that I have to accept it. I should have crushed her when I had the chance.”

“We’ll get a chance to fix that motherfucking soon enough, brother,” grins Makara wickedly. He has never, ever referred to Sollux as one of his brothers before, and you think that the two of you might be in a little bit of shock.

“Okay, stop being nice to each other, it is freaking me out,” your eye twitches involuntarily. “Sol, you never met her, so you had no way of knowing who it was. I think our description when explaining it to you was something along the lines of ‘blueblood pirate spiderbitch’ and that was it. Gam, don’t you _dare_ do anything until Rez gives you the thumbs up. In case this is actually a binding agreement, I am not dragging you down with me. I sunk enough ships this sweep already.”

“You keep saying that,” he pushes you back a bit so he can frown down at you, “but I never motherfucking heard anything about sinking ships in that story.”

“He didn’t blow up any ships until later,” Sollux helpfully added, “when we were being pursued. Took out Ampora’s lovely boat first. Honestly, I was rather impressed, blueblood weaponry or not.”

“I am guessing that was what those giant ass bombs were for in the first place,” you raise an eyebrow. “I mean, come on. It was three of us in a rowboat versus five ships. Even with your psionics we would’ve been screwed. The timers were a bit off, but we managed to get the Hell out of there in time anyway.”

“Did we miss anything?” Kanaya is suddenly standing next to where you are cuddling with your matesprit. Normally you would be rather embarrassed and flailing, but for now you were holding on to every bit of stability that you could. The Legislacerator standing behind her has a thoughtful expression on her face.

“We need to talk,” interrupts the tealblood.

* * * * * *

“This is a bad idea,” you say for the millionth time, fidgeting with the straps of leather that kept the sword at your side. “Why are we here again? Does anyone want to run it by me yet again why it is necessary to have this guy come with us? Or why we are even going in the first place? Seriously, this is the worst idea ever. Possibly almost as bad as when Sol fucking cut off all of my- well, you know.”

“Just shut up for the next ten minutes or so, okay, Karkles?” snaps Terezi as she bangs on the mammoth door with her cane. “We are close enough to the hives that you really should not say anything at all, because you never know who is listening.” You wish for the five-millionth time that you had allowed Kanaya to accompany you, because you knew you were getting more and more highstrung and unpredictable by the moment. As it was, just you, the Legislacerator, and the Grand Highblood seemed like a miserably small group to be attempting anything at all.

The giant door creaks open and a small, helmed head pops out, “Who goes the-eeeeEEEE!” The rest of the door flings open as the oliveblood pounces on you, “Karkitty! You and Terezi came to visit meow? Aw, that is so sweet! None of you have efur come over to visit before; we’ll have to set up my things fur a tea party!”

“Sorry, Lady Leijon,” your matesprit looms over you and extracts you from her crushing hug, “but we are here on official business. As much as I motherfucking hate to say it, we need to have an audience with your moirail.”

With a concerned look, she turns to the tealblood but gets no further information. Shrugging, she leads the way into the castle, which immediately opens up into a hall. It is not as wide or spectacularly decorated as the Grand Hall in Makara’s hive, but it was easily as intimidating. Instead of walls painted with the blood of his enemies, Zahhak had chosen to leave his hall starkly bare of anything that could be construed as a comfort or decoration. Except for the occupied throne at the end of the dim hall, there were no furnishings.

“Grand Highblood Makara, Legislacerator Pyrope, and Cartographer Vantas have come on official business!” announces Nepeta gleefully as she bounds back to what you assume is her customary place on the arm of the gigantic stone throne. It reminds you a lot of how Gamzee likes to have you perch on his own ceremonial chair, and it makes you slightly uncomfortable.

“This is an honor, I’m sure,” begins the indigoblood, “but might I enquire as to the reason behind this formal visit?”

Terezi gives her moirail a warning pap as she steps forward to speak with the highblood, “Lord Zahhak, we have come to you in the hopes that you would be interested in the pacification, or nullification if needed, of one Corsair Serket. Would you be so kind as to join our small envoy to her hold, if only to show your support?”

“Have you found something for which we can ‘pin her’ with?” the hulking adult leans forward, and you successfully resist the urge to begin backing away slowly.

“Not exactly,” frowns the tealblood. “We can fill you in somewhat on the way there, if you wish, but timing is of the essence. We do not wish to give the appearance of an assassination attempt, nor the building of a mob. Just two lords, a Legislacerator, and a plaintiff. It appears that Serket has overstepped her bounds once again by entering Lord Makara’s hive without his permission and dealing with his hivemates.”

“I see,” nods Zahhak. “So it is much the situation as before, yes?” Beside you, you can feel your matesprit stiffen and release the faintest hiss. Apparently this is more than he thought his former black crush needed to know.

“Pretty much,” Terezi agrees, even though you have no idea what they are talking about. “This time there are no graves to dig, but hopefully Serket will realize that the principle remains the same, and she has effectively broken her treaty. Otherwise she could be… difficult.”

The highblood stands, “Right. Nepeta, you will remain here to take over all responsibilities until I return.”

“No fur!” whined the girl plaintively. “I want to go with you! You’re my meowrail, Gog damn it!”

“Nepeta!” snarled the blueblood. “Watch your language!”

“Sorry,” she meekly corrects, “but it’s still not fur. I am your best warrior and you know it! Leave one of the others in charge!”

“You are an exemplary fighter,” he agrees, “but that is why you must stay here. You know that Serket’s abilities affect those lower on the hemospectrum more readily than she could bend me or Makara. I will not have you placed in harms way where you might be psychically controlled into doing things beyond your will. Stay.”

There was a brief pause as she appeared to consider his words, “Then you had best take care of Karkitty, or I will never furgive you.” You blink a few times before you realize that her worry for you is because of your supposed lowblooded roots, but the gesture is still touching.

He glances over at you before turning back towards his moirail, “I will not allow him to come to any harm. Before we leave, why don’t you go get your presents?”

“Oh my gosh, I almost furgot!” she scurries off as quick as a flash.

“She is so adorable,” the blind troll chuckles throatily. “What sort of presents is she planning on giving us?”

Zahhak hesitated as he considered what information to relay before shrugging, “Just some things suggested by a mutual acquaintance. They were originally going to be given when we attempted to smooth things over with your hive, but since you are here she might as well give them to you in person.”

Before any of you can press him on who exactly he was referring to, the girl skids back into the room with several bundles tucked under her arms, “Karkitty! You get to open your furst, since you are the littlest!” Both of the trolls standing next to you pap you preemptively as you start to open your mouth to retort. When the decision had been made to leave Kanaya behind (one you were actually thrilled with, and wholly supported), the two of them promised that they would keep you in check. Unfortunately, they were not your palemate, and tended to hit rather harder than you were used to. Rubbing the back of your head ruefully, you hold out your other hand for the burlap-wrapped package Nepeta is forking over.

The package itself is rather heavy and oddly shaped, but you feel your breath catch in your throat as you feel a familiar grip through the fabric. Tearing the cloth off with your claws, you find a pair of gleaming sickles, much like the ones you used to own. However, unlike your old pair, these are not dinged, dented, and rusted from sweeps and sweeps of hard use; these weapons look newly forged, a luxury beyond belief for even most of the midbloods. You do not even realize that you are gaping at them until the tealblood pokes her bony elbow into your chest.

“Ow! What? Oh, right,” you turn back to the oliveblood, “thanks, Nep.” She smirks and holds out her hand expectantly, at which point you tear the sword from your side and hand it over. Using the same leather strips, you manage to equip your sickles so they hand low on your hips where they can be easily drawn. It is the first time in over two sweeps that you actually feel at ease being out and about; the familiar weight of the weapons at your hips gives you a sense of wellbeing simply due to your increased ability to defend yourself.

“I thank you as well, mighty Hunterrorist,” grins Terezi as she places her red-tinted glasses on her face. “They match everything.”

“Of course they do,” the girl practically wiggles in ecstasy. “I had them made especially fur you. It is impawsible fur anyone to give better presents than Nepeta Leijon!”

You turn and are about to ask what Gamzee received when an extremely loud honk sounds right next to you; you jump a foot in the air and make a weird, choked-off gurgle of surprise as you whirl around. When all you see is Gamzee holding some sort of cloth and metal instrument of some kind, you force yourself to take a deep breath and remove your hands from the handles of your sickles. Even harder is not releasing that same breath in a torrent of screaming obscenities, but somehow you manage to only emit a very annoyed growl. Kanaya should give you cake for week for how saintly you are being in her absence.

“Sorry there, little motherfucker. I wasn’t expecting it to go and be all loud like that. This thing is bitchtits,” grins your matesprit as you glower at him. You suddenly feel like skinning the oliveblood alive with the very blades she just gave you. When you shoot her a glare, it appears that she realizes what you are thinking and skitters back to the relative safety of the stone throne and her giant moirail. Using everything the jadeblood has taught you, you take deep breaths in and out as you count numbers forwards and backwards until you no longer want to scream and flail your arms about. Screw cake for a week; you had better be getting dessert for _perigrees_.

“Perhaps it would be best if we left now,” suggest the indigoblood.

* * * * * *

The castle spread before you is much like the one you recently had vacated, and you wonder if perhaps there was some sort of common theme among all bluebloods or if the two castles once belonged to the same fiefdom. Both were interesting ideas, but honestly you were just trying to avoid thinking about how stupid all of you were being. There was no way the spiderbitch did not know you were coming; the surrounding land was rather flat overall, despite the rolling hills. However, instead of sending a vassal to meet you, she was simply allowing your small assembly to waltz right up to her front door. This did not bode well.

With the indigoblood in your midst, your ranting and complaining has been put on temporary hold, but you cannot help muttering one last time what a very bad idea this is. He glances at you as he lurches past to bang a massive fist on the wide wood and iron door. Like a premonition, you suddenly know that blood is going to be spilt this night, and your throat tightens a bit. The door swings open on creaky hinges even though there is no one on the other side, and the four of you step willingly into the most obvious trap you have ever seen. As soon as your matesprit slouches through the doorframe, the door slams shut with a mighty bang. You are so strung out you do not even flinch.

The hall you have entered is dimly lit by torches strung out so far and few between there are pools of darkness even your eyes cannot pierce. At the end of the hall is a throne, but instead of the stone you have been accustomed to seeing, it appears to be made out of (or at least covered with) gold and jewels. Lazily sprawled on the seat with her feet resting upon one glittering armrest was the ceruleanblood you all had come to confront. She takes a sip from a silver chalice encrusted with sapphires before setting it to the side.

“So I am going to guess that your little group did not come here to kill me,” her uninterested voice sounds like silk being ripped. “Nor did you bring the jadeblood, so I can assume that you are not here to square the debt. How boring.”

“Corsair Serket,” begins Terezi, “we are here because of the oath you broke. Besides knowingly making deals with two of the Makara house, you also entered the Grand Highblood’s hive uninvited. We are prepared to compensate you for the payment still owed, but you must take into account our claims as well.”

“Payment?” scoffs the blueblood as she gestures down at her throne. “What use do I have for your precious metals or gems? And I am not as artistically inclined as Makara here, so I have no need for your blood. Bring me the jadeblood, and then we’ll talk.” You cannot help the coiling of your tense muscles any more than you can stop the faint hiss from escaping your throat. What the pirate is suggesting is beyond your ability to give, let alone allow happen on your watch. She knows this, and her grin merely widens at your response. Beside you the two highbloods are as tense as bowstrings pulled back for the kill.

“What? Would you prefer to settle this some other way, lowblood?” she cackles, and the sound reminds you of wingedsqueakbeasts. “How about this: I will challenge you to a duel for your precious moirail. If I win, the deal stands. If I lose, I will forget about it as long as you drop the charges against me. A clean slate, if you get my meaning.”

“Wait,” the tealblood frowns, “are you making this an official challenge?”

“Kar…,” warns Gamzee. You instantly pap him on autopilot. This is your challenge to face, and even though the floor feels like it has been dropped out from under you, you know exactly how this is going to play out.

“Perhaps I am,” the woman tosses her hair. “What is your reply, lowblood?”

Your mutant blood is pounding in your ears, “I accept.” Your matesprit hisses no beside you at the same time Zahhak gives an impatient sigh. Even the Legislacerator looks as if she thinks you are making a mistake. You do not have time to explain to them that one way or another the ceruleanblood would have gotten what she wanted. The past between her and the Grand Highblood was filled with blood and regret, and this was just another way for her to get even.

The woman looks thrilled, “I really did not expect you to agree so reasonably. Pyrope, be a dear and judge the match for us, would you?”

“As a representative his Great Tyranny, I will. You both know the rules,” she gives you a thorough once-over. “Draw your weapons and take positions. Do you want to take the full oath or just swear in?”

“Swearing in will do,” Serket unsheathes a thin blade and leaps down from her throne. “I’ll even go first. I swear to uphold the dueling laws.”

“Now you, Vantas,” the tealblood prompts.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to swear,” you grimly smile as you step clear from Zahhak and Makara, “but yes, I give my word I will uphold the dueling laws.”

“Then commence,” nods Terezi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a cliffhanger there, but not that surprising coming from me. i do regretfully have to say that the next update will be severely delayed, as the next two weeks are finals and i am going to be spending every waking moment studying my ass off. so with any luck i will be able to resume writing and posting new chapters by the end of the month.


	13. Gamzee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching your matesprit duel a psychopath is hard. It's hard an no one understands.

When the ceruleanblood lunges at your tiny matesprit, he does not even have his weapons drawn yet. At the last second, he whips his sickles up and out, parrying a lunging stab that was aimed right for his heart. Then the woman leaps back again as he slashes out with his second blade, and you release the shaky breath you had been holding. The two of them circle for a bit, each one observing the other’s footwork with equal amounts of disdain. If the Empress herself could see this, she would likely feel somewhat proud of their contempt. 

Then the boy lunges forward, the metal curves of his blades slicing through the air in graceful arcs as he tests her defense. She dances out of his way with nimble steps, blocking the blows that come too close for comfort with her rapier. You have seen Karkat fight on several different occasions, but you have never seen anything like this. He positively glows. His composed and concentrated expression is the same you have seen on his face when he works on his maps. The metal in his hands moves as fluidly and quickly as if they were extensions of his arms rather than weapons, and his endless barrage of attacks are carefully calculated. As much as you hate to admit it, later you are going to have to thank Zahhak for forging those blades. 

The blueblood seems begrudgingly impressed even as she counterattacks and strikes nothing but empty air. Used to fighting trolls that outweighed and outmatched him by more than double, the mutant is used to dancing in and out of striking range; even her more daring lunges could not connect. When she left herself wide open during one such lunge, the boy suddenly twirled along down the blade until he was too close for her to attack. He held one curved blade at her throat, and the other hovered over her stomach. 

“Yield,” he demands. 

“Never!” she snarls, striking his back with the pommel of her sword. 

With a pained hiss, he sweeps to the side, twirling once again with his blades pointed outwards to prevent her from following too closely. You note to yourself that he would be an excellent dance partner, if only you could convince him that dancing and fighting were really the same actions with different meanings. When he comes to a stop, the blueblood is not far behind him with her quicksilver blade. Once again the forceful ting of metal upon metal sounds throughout the hall as he parries her blows. His shorter range makes it more difficult for him to go on the offensive, but the fact that he had two blades instead of one made it that much easier for him to block. In a courageous move, he manages to give her a shallow cut on one cheek, jumping backwards to get out of range as she gives a feral growl. 

A few drops of cerulean blue drip from the tip of his left sickle as the kid takes another offensive stance. Not giving her a moment to rest, he darts forward once again. Beside you Zahhak gives a grunt of approval as he executes a particularly impressive maneuver, managing to swipe both the girl’s arm and her torso. The cuts are once again rather shallow, but they trickle blood out and loosen her grip on the rapier. He steps back once again for a brief pause, and for the first time you realize that he is trying to give the blueblood the opportunity to surrender and save face; however, Serket is having no such thing. She lunges after him once again, her bloodlust peaked by the slight wounds he had inflicted upon her. 

They are chasing each other up and down the hall in all directions; first one would be on the offensive with the other backing up and then they would switch. So far neither of them have landed any more blows, and you are becoming very worried. It has only been two weeks since Karkat’s miraculous return from the terrors of the ocean, and he is still in pretty poor shape. The teenager might not have it in him for a fight of endurance; even if he was unwilling to back down completely, he would eventually slip up. You know the turning point of the battle when you see it: the bitch manages to slash out and cut the boy’s face. Honestly, it is only a scratch, but you can feel panic welling up in the room like it had been a mortal blow. You huff a bit at the distraction; Karkat’s blood insecurity was completely nonsensical, considering all of you in the room, with the exception of maybe Serket herself, knew about said mutation. 

“He has been fighting as if the battle would be called at first blood,” notes the indigoblood beside you. “And holding himself back rather well, but now his resolve appears to be wavering.” He glares out of the corner of his eye at you, “Fix it.” 

“Excuse me, motherfucker?” your eyebrows shoot up. 

“Forgive my crudeness, but you heard my words correctly,” retorts the giant. “Fix your matesprit or he is going to lose the battle due to psychological issues. I did not accompany your caravan tonight to watch Serket once again thwart her betters, and also I promised Nepeta I would look after the mutant. Fix. It.” 

* * * * * * 

You ponder as you watch the battle progress how you would go about ‘fixing it.’ The small scratch has obviously shaken the boy, and you want nothing more than to be able to pull him aside and calm him down. The rules are very clear, however, that doing so would be direct interference with the fight and would cause a forfeit. So instead you are left to worry away at the sidelines as your matesprit gets another shallow cut on his thigh and two on his left arm. His fighting is obviously sloppier and slower; he is more on the defensive now than before, which cannot be a good sign. It really is beginning to look like he is hitting the end of his wind and will soon be unable to do much more than block. In a last-ditch effort, the boy once again slipped through Serket’s meager defenses and managed to curve one blade between her sword arm and torso and held the other at her throat. 

He gave a tired sneer, “Yield. You will not get a third request.” 

She gave a nasty smile, and the bottom of your stomach drops out, “I won’t need it.” 

You hear the crackle of electricity before you feel the bolt shoot out and slam you into the wall. Dazed, you wonder if there will ever be a time where you can go more than two hours without wanting to kill the mutant lowblood. You hear another bolt get loosed and a huge crash tells you Zahhak likely just got knocked on his ass as well. Psychics were such a pain. When your eyes clear from the black spots bursting miraculous colors around the edges, you see that your matesprit as disentangled himself from the blueblood and defending Terezi from incoming attacks from his former moirail. The situation has clearly dissolved from unpleasant to downright deadly in a matter of moments. 

“Rez,” you hear him grunt as he literally blocks a psionic bolt aimed at her with his sickles and body, “please tell me this is definitely cheating and we can cull this bitch.” 

“It is,” nods the tealblood as she dodges another attack gracefully. “Serket! This is obviously a treacherous break in the dueling laws. This duel is hereby proclaimed forfeit by your deeds, and you are sentenced for immediate nullification by culling. If you comply-” 

The blueblood laughs as a bolt creams the tealblood, “As if!” With a snarl, you lunge at her, completely ignoring the lowblood mutant in your rage. The blue and red electricity slams you against another wall and does not let up. You struggle uselessly, but there is no way for you to simply overpower his psionics. Being crushed to death is an awfully slow, painful way to go, you decide as your bones begin to creak under the strain. There is a resounding crack, and suddenly the pressure is gone. For a moment you gasp for air, sliding down the wall and glancing over to where the two mutants were. The smaller one was standing with his arm upraised as the psychic slowly crumpled to the ground; a strike with the metal pommel of a sickle had knocked the lowblood unconscious. 

“Do. Not. Touch. My. Motherfucking. Matesprit!” snarls Karkat, and you suddenly realize that you have never seen him truly angry before. Annoyed: certainly. Irritated: all the time. Actually culling-mood pissed, however, was rather new. Then you comprehend that the yellow of his eyes are actually a deep orange color, and you internally berate yourself. Of course. Your matesprit was indeed a highblood- one of the highest, in fact. You should have known that he could go into a bloodrage. 

His head whips around sharply, “What are you doing?!?” 

Serket actually takes a quick step backwards, “Wh-What?” 

“Get. Out. Of. My,” he takes a step forward with each word. “HEAD!!!” 

She scrambles backward with each step he is taking, her face growing pale, “No! Stop! Why won’t you stop? You stupid fucking gutterblood! You should be easy to control!” 

With bared fangs, he puffs himself up. It takes you a moment to realize that his chest is almost double its normal size; he is performing a classic seadweller threat, but with the heavy shirts he is wearing it looks so foreign and odd. By extending his ribs and opening up his gill slits hidden under, he could draw in a ton of air. And you have a feeling you know what that means. You slam your hands on your ears just in time. 

“GUTTERBLOOD? MOTHERFUCKING GUTTERBLOOD?!” he bellows as he strides towards her. “DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE FUCKING SPEAKING WITH, SPIDERBITCH? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW GRACED WITH MY PRESENCE YOU ARE? YOU’RE THE NOOKWHIFFING GUTTERBLOOD, SERKET! YOU HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE! ALL OF YOU ARE SO FAR BENEATH ME, IT IS NOT EVEN FUNNY. I AM THE PARIAH. I AM THE MESSIAH. I AM THE FUCKING SUFFERER’S GET, YOU KEN? THE SIGNLESS.” 

He had walked right up to Serket and knocked the blade out of her fear-clumsy hand and now stood poking her chest with the tip of his sickle lightly to emphasize his speech, “YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT IS GOING ON, YOU LITTLE SHIT. WHAT, DID YOU THINK MY HAPPY CANDYASSCOLORED BLOOD WAS A FREAK MUTATION? I BET YOU DID. WELL NEWS FLASH, BITCH: 

“It isn’t,” his voice becomes low and conspiratorial as you drag yourself upright using the wall behind you. “It is a fucking sign. The end is coming. All you assbackwards little bastards are going to find out really quick that the hemospectrum is nothing but bullshit. There is no higher and there is no lower. It’s a circle. CAN YOU FUCKING COMPREHEND THAT?!” 

“Kar?” you call out tentatively, and the woman’s eyes snap to you like you are a lifeline she can grab onto. You have never seen an adult so terrified in your life, and it deeply disturbs you that not only is a child responsible, but that child is your matesprit. 

“One moment, Gam,” he does not take his eyes off of the woman. “I’m not done talking with Lady Serket here. Or do you prefer Corsair? I can’t be bothered to remember. Or care. God it is tiring dealing with you imbecile bluebloods sometimes. Always with the vain little titles. Ah, well. I suppose it can’t be helped. Where was I? See what you did there, Gam? Making me lose track of my very important discussion here. 

“Oh yes, the circle. Don’t think my fucking tattered ears cannot hear the rumors, Serket. The new Empress is rising, and she has some very new ideas about how to run things. DO YOU THINK IT IS A MOTHERFUCKING COINCIDENCE THAT I WAS BORN JUST IN TIME FOR THIS UPRISING? DO YOU, WOMAN? BECAUSE I FOR ONE DO NOT.” 

“I don’t know what to think,” she is shaking her head slowly. 

“Kar…” warns Terezi, and you can see that she too is slowly trying to edge her way towards the two of them. 

“THAT’S FUCKING HILARIOUS!” his face breaks into a manic grin, and you swear you can see every fang in his head. With a start, you realize that his skull-like face cracked wide in a fang-bearing smile makes him look like death. “YOU LOVE TO PUT YOUR THOUGHTS INTO OTHER TROLLS’ HEADS, BUT YOU HAVE NONE FOR YOURSELF? DID YOU RUN OUT, SERKET? ARE THERE NOT ENOUGH FUCKING REMAINS OF YOUR THINKPAN TO SCRAPE TOGETHER SOME SEMBLANCE OF A MIND? I’LL TELL YOU WHAT TO THINK, THEN. YOU SHOULD THINK THAT NOW WOULD BE A REALLY GOOD TIME TO GET ON YOU KNEES AND BEG MY FUCKING MATESPRIT FOR FORGIVENESS, AND MAYBE I WILL MAKE YOUR CULLING QUICK AND PAINLESS.” 

“Kar, come on now, little motherfucker,” you are trying to edge around where you can see his face more clearly. “This is not necessary. Come over here and get away from the motherfucking spidertroll.” 

He glances over at you and Jegus Christ his eyes are completely red right now, “Gamzee, for the love of- you have no fucking idea how bad you look right now. Seriously, man. She tried to fucking murder you just now. I think I’m entitled to a little bit of-” This minor distraction was all the pirate needed, and she lunges forward to try and grab a blade. In a dismissive gesture, the second sickle whips through the air so quickly you lose sight of it. A massive spray of blue blood splatters all over the two of them as the offending arm falls away from the woman’s body. 

“Now, _that_ was really fucking rude,” the snarl returns. “Fucking landdweller nobility. I have no idea why, but you all are always the worst. With maybe the exception of your kismesis. Seriously, these blood feuds are such trifling shit when you look at the big picture.” 

You have to give the woman credit, she does not scream. Instead, she swallows harshly and asks, “What’s the big picture then, oh great one?” 

“Don’t patronize me, whore,” one orange eye twitches. “The picture is the biggest you can think of. There’s a war coming. Not just your normal landdweller against seadweller or highblood versus lowblood shit, either. The Great War. It transcends all boundaries in this obsolete hemocaste system, and will do away with it completely. If you weren’t going to die in a little while, you would be able to see it. The Witch of Life is just the figurehead. I am going to be the spearpoint that drives in the killing blow. After all, how can the system work if there is not even a place for me on it?” He spread his arms wide, as if waiting for a blow that he knew should come but somehow never would happen. 

“It can’t. They’ve been lying from the start, those fucking seatrolls,” his nose crinkles here, and you have an urge to remind him that he is actually a seaddweller himself. “They kill and plot and lie, but they will not keep the truth hidden much longer. Do you know what the actual lifespan is of a ‘lowblood?’ Take your best guess.” 

At this point Terezi is almost within reach, but suddenly he whirls around and kicks her in the gut, sending her sprawling, “GIVE ME SEC, REZ! THIS IS FUCKING IMPORTANT. IF SHE’S GOING TO DIE, SHE SHOULD DIE FUCKING EDUCATED! You never guessed, Serket. Go on, I’ll wait.” 

If looks could kill, your matesprit would have been dead a thousand times over, “I do not know. Maybe twenty sweeps or so.” 

He gives a small grin as he shakes his head, “Wrong. Guess again. Go higher.” 

She frowns, “Twenty-five? It can’t be any higher than thirty.” You personally think that she has overshot the limit a little, but you are too busy trying to get steady on your feet to correct her or add in your own number. 

He gives a mock sigh, “This is what happens when you simply tell yourself you are superior without doing any research. I have met a rustblood once, a long time ago, who was fourty-two sweeps old. A _rustblood_. The lowest of the low, on your scales. Now guess as to why this is such a rare occurrence. No, wait. I don’t feel like waiting that long; I’ll just tell you. It is mostly because of you ‘highbloods.’ You kill them before their time, or set them against each other for resources because you horde them all for yourselves. The hemocaste system is nothing but an elaborate way for one group to declare dominance over another, and thus be freed from moral obligations when dealing with such groups. 

“Isn’t that something?” he tilts his head a bit. “Some sheepbeast skin has been pulled over our eyes, and it was not the work of just one person. The entire world has been fooled. Every single troll in existence knows about the hemocaste system, even if they do not necessarily believe in the social implications. When the war happens, it’ll be like the riptide. Every troll will get dragged into it, and those that come out gasping for air on the other side! Ah, they will have found a new world. A better world. One where trolls have embraced their roots once again. A world where Nitram would have been loved and embraced for the strengths of his character, instead of tormented for his flaws.” 

You give a small jerk at the same time Serket does, and your eyes briefly lock as he continues, “I can see you didn’t delve too deep into my best bro’s mind, over there. If you had, you would be a screaming incoherent mess right now. Psionics aren’t the only thing his magic thinkpan can do. He hears voices. He hears the voices of the doomed. 

“I know I’m not supposed to know about Nitram. Just another fucking lowblood for you to use for a puppet, right? Wrong. I have my ways, Serket, just as you had yours…you really are a piece of work. And coming from me, that is absolutely motherfucking impressive.” 

“Nnnngh,” a voice behind you grumbles. “Wh-What is going on? Is Serket-” 

“So what?” she demands, blue eyes in a deadlock with the scarlet ones. “You think you are some tough shit right now because of your little talk about revolution? Well guess what, tons of lowbloods talk about revolution all the time. And guess where it gets them? Dead, that’s where. If you are going to cull me, just do it, Vantas.” 

“Don’t tempt me, bitch,” he actually raises his arm a little. “Anyway, do you think you could just wrap your head around it, Serket? I know it is a lot to ask with someone with your brain power, but just stay with me here for a second. If I’m a lowblood, why can’t you do your little mind tricks on me?” You cannot believe that he is choosing right now to reveal his secret, to Serket of all trolls. 

“Kar!” you are reaching out towards him when suddenly psionics fling you out of the way of an incoming sickle. 

“Whoa!” you huff angrily. “What the fuck was that about?” 

“Leave me be, Gam. I am proving a point here,” he turns back to the blueblood. “Come on, Serket. I will give you three guesses.” You want to move towards him again, to stop him, but a thin hand grabs your wrist. 

“Shhhhhh,” hisses the lowblood. “I already sent TZ to go get KN, so just wait for them. But you seriously need to stay the fuck away from KK right now; this is something that he has to do. I mean, he chose a crappy time to do it, but whatever.” 

“What is going on?” Zahhak questions from right behind you. You are somewhat disappointed to see him in such good shape, when you feel like crap. There is something hot and wet streaming down your face, and you realize that your nose is bleeding. The psionic must have messed you up a bit more than you realized. 

“He’s winding down from a bloodrage,” explains Sollux softly. “I haven’t seen one in sweeps. I think all the recent trauma has made it flare up in a very unusual way. He seems to finally be ready to act instead of just scream.” 

“What?” you frown. 

“Revolution,” shrugs the rail-thin lowblood. “KK has always talked about it. How much he hates the hemocaste system and how he wishes he could get rid of it. Not just for him, though. He hardly ever thinks about himself. He wants it for people like Tavros and Aradia.” Next to you the indigoblood gives a small start, but he is unable to get out his question because of the scene unfolding before you. 

The boy has turned back to Serket and is ignoring your conversation, “I’m waiting for your first guess, Serket.” 

The woman licks her lips, “You could have some sort of psychic mutation for resistance.” 

He nods thoughtfully, “Good, but no cigar. Sol’s psionics work just fine on me, and so does Gam’s fear-mongering thing. Try again.” 

“You could be a midblood mutant,” she shrugs and winces from pain. “I always have more trouble with the higher bloods.” 

“Getting warmer,” he smiles indulgently. She frowns and stares at him, and he simply stares back. They spend a few moments like that before she begins to comprehend. You can see the realization slowly forming on her face. 

“You couldn’t be-” she begins uneasily.

“Oh, but I can,” he grins again. “And I am.” 

* * * * * * 

“A highblood?” her voice cracks a bit. 

“The highest,” he nods calmly. 

“But highbloods don’t have mutations like that,” she begins, but he is already shaking his head vehemently. 

“No, no, no,” the boy rolls his orange-tinted eyes (you wonder for a moment if they seem to be returning to normal). “Of course they don’t. It is not a mutation at all. I just happen to be a bit rarer than even the Empress-elect.” 

If her blue eyes get any wider, you are fairly sure you could reach the ocean through them, “You are… _above_ the Empress?” Zahhak makes a really unattractive noise beside you, but makes no move towards the two of them. 

“Rarest of the rare,” a sad, small smile forms on his lips. “Only one other before me. That we know of, anyway. There always could have been more that were culled early on. Gog knows you fuckers have tried enough on me.” 

“Prove it!” hisses the blueblood. “You have no webs or fins. Show me something that can prove you are really a seatroll.” 

He snorts, “Not that hard, toots.” Tossing down his weapons in a clear show of scorn, he grabs the hem of his thick sweater and jerks up. With his gill slits still flaring from his earlier bout of screaming, it takes a brief moment of struggling before he manages to shuck the shirt and toss it to the side. The crimson filaments peek out blasphemously from the widest gill slits you have ever seen. He looks so disproportionate with his stick thin body and his ribs outstretched that it would be almost comical, if not for the message behind the display. Those were obviously the gills of a full-blown seadweller, and Serket of all people would likely know. 

“Oh my Gog,” she whispers. “Holy shit! They’re even bigger than Ampora’s! But then what happened to your webs?” Zahhak is making about the same noises, but with less coherency than his rival noble. 

“Jeez, you people are so short-sighted,” he sighs in annoyance. “I was living in the deep inlands, idiots. You think I was going to survive by walking around with a huge sign on my head declaring ‘Hey! I’m a seatroll! You should all come over here and cull me because of retarded stigmas between races!’ Sol cut those off for me.” 

“He…did what? Whoa,” she looks seriously impressed, and that concerns you a bit. “Damn, kid. You have some kind of thick skin.” 

“Damn straight. Now do I have to cull your ass or are you going to be using your psychic powers a little more sparingly from now on? Because I have to say, I am getting real fucking tired of you using my best bro to try and gank people.” 

“That depends,” she replies. “Do you think we actually would have a chance?” 

“We?” he smirks. “You are assuming that our side would want anything to do with you after all the trouble you have caused?” 

“Hey, my abilities can be used for the right things,” she frowns. “Why do you think I’ve been taking out Ampora’s fleet as often as I have? I mean, I was going more for the ‘death to all seatrolls’ agenda, but wiping out the hemospectrum is something I could really get behind. I think Mindfang would have liked it.” 

“Mind control is not something that builds lasting alliances, Serket,” retorts Karkat. “And I don’t much care what your reasoning is, as long as you make some sort of Gogdamn unbreakable oath signed in triplicate or something that you will not ever, and I mean fucking ever, use your powers on anyone in Makara’s hive ever again. Especially not Sol. Emotionally retarded mustardblood could probably put a nice sized crater in the world, you know?” 

“Gee, thanks, KK,” the lowblood pouts. 

“Go pail a spineplant, Sol,” is the instantaneous reply. “What do you say, Serket?” 

“Seeing as how I lost the dual, the debt is considered paid and clear,” she speaks carefully. “In return for me aiding your side, all I ask is that someone patches me up before or after I pass out from blood loss.” 

“Right,” he nods. “I guess we can probably get Zahhak to do that- Don’t you fucking start, you great hulk! I can’t trust Gam or Sol not to slit her throat and I am about two seconds away from planting my face into the stone. If you can’t do it, just wait until Kan gets here and… then…fuck.” He takes one stumbling step backwards and then he is tumbling to the floor. You realize far too late that he is deathly pale; ash is darker than this kid. You rush to his side even as Serket sits down heavily not two yards away. 

“Idiot,” Sollux shakes his head as he pads forward on unsteady feet. “He’s still anemic from being out at sea for so long. And gulping all that air down with his gills probably didn’t help matters any. He’s going to be extra grumpy when he wakes up.” 

“So…uh…” the indigoblood is awkwardly shuffling his feet. “I guess this is what you meant when you said that he was higher than me.” 

“Go motherfucking stitch up Serket before I start culling people,” you sneer as you pick up your tiny matesprit. “We are going home. Come on, Captor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! guess whos still alive after all?? thats right, me. finals gave it their best shot but in the end i prevailed.
> 
> anyway, updates will hopefully become more frequent now that i have a little more spare time on my hands. i say a little more because i was an idiot and signed up for three different volunteer projects this summer. **facepalm** anyway, hope you enjoy your new chapter!!


	14. Chapter 14

When you wake up, you are curled up in Kanaya’s recuperacoon with the jadeblood humming as she strokes your hair. It feels good, so for awhile you do not move or do much of anything other than enjoy the moment. You feel… oddly hollowed out, though. And sore as hell around your ribs. You pause and try to remember what happened last morning, and then you freeze in a panic. Your moirail senses your distress and immediately shooshes you.

“Kan…what… I don’t remember what happened last night,” you breathe out. “Oh shit, okay. No, we went and picked up Zahhak. I faced off with Serket…she…oh.”

“Shoosh,” she repeats herself as she rubs calming circles on your back. “It is okay. I obviously should have accompanied you, but everything turned out okay anyway.”

“Because going off the deep end and cutting off another troll’s arm is considered okay?” you frown into her shoulder. “Did they at least bandage her up or did she die from blood loss or something?”

“When I arrived Lord Zahhak was already stitching up Serket,” she informs you. “After inquiring after you, I remained there to aid him. Then we left her to her own devices and returned to our respective hives. Somehow I managed to convince Makara to release you into my custody on the condition that you were not to leave my side for a moment.”

“Oh great,” you chuckle dryly. “At least he is still extra clingy and not weirded out by my ability to scream and attack friends in a bloodrage.”

“I think it will take a lot more than that to get rid of your doting highblood,” she pats your head. “And it certainly has done nothing but convince me that you need more looking after. Speaking of which, I am drawing up a feeding schedule. You are still grossly underweight, darling. And Makara and I will be keeping track of your sleep cycles as well.”

“What?” you struggle to pull back so you can look at her face. “What for? I’m not some little incompetent wriggler. I thought I fucking proved that when I dueled Serket for you.”

“No, you are not,” she agrees. “You are simply a malnourished teenager with stunted growth and a penchant for collapsing after vigorous exercise or emotional extremes. Not to mention the fact you recently spent perigrees at sea becoming more and more anemic and weak before duking it out with a full-grown adult _pirate_.”

“Ugh! That was not my fault!” you moan. “We were supposed to go, I don’t know, intimidate her through giant hulking highbloods and let us get off with paying a fine or something. How did it go so wrong like that?”

“Things rarely work out as we plan them, darling,” she sighs. “One last thing: Zahhak now knows of your amphibious nature. We swore him to secrecy, but I have a feeling Leijon will be in here within the week asking for you to go fishing with her.” You groan. Just what you needed.

* * * * * *

You literally spend the entire night lounging around in Kanaya’s quarters; which is the nicer way of saying you were on hive arrest and she was not letting you leave the room. Of all people, it is Sollux who drops in and brings you two lunch and dinner. At least you have clothes on this time. He lingers a bit the first time, opening his mouth before slowly closing it and shaking his head; apparently he still does not know how to express himself as eloquently as other trolls. Strangely, you think he looks just the tiniest bit proud of you. The second time he lingers Kanaya offers to let him stay and share a meal with you two.

“Uh, sure,” he shrugs. “I guess I could do that.” You both sit down at the table in an awkward silence after Kanaya refuses to let either of you help serve the food. As he tries and fails to say whatever it is that is on his mind yet again, you think back and attempt to pinpoint when things had gotten so awkward between the two of you. At one point you really were the best of friends, and it had seemed logical to just accept his pale advances (and then you suppose the other kinds, too) than to risk losing the only troll who gave two shits about you. You mean a shit. Oh Gog, the duality thing was popping up again; even your mind was not safe. You really have to stop hanging around Sollux.

“So…” he trails off.

You stare blankly at him, “What?”

“Are we going to talk about how you cut off a highblood’s arm and declared holy war, or is this another one of those subjects that we are going to skirt around for ages, because honestly it does not seem like a half-bad idea,” he grins toothily at you. Damn you should have pulled out some of his fangs at one point; that many fangs sticking every-which way was simply asking for a swift punch to the face.

“Preferably the latter,” you mutter.

“Seriously, KK?” a frown begins to form on his face. Stupid bipolar mood swings. “Is that seriously how you want to play this? Because I don’t remember Spiderbitch pledging her talents to a whiny little bitch. She yielded for the fucking badass who was screaming about the bogus hemocaste system and revolution, not some snot-nosed wriggler.”

“Okay, first off, let us pause for a moment here and get to why you were there in the first place,” you snarl. “Because I hate to say this, but at no point do I remember it being in the plan for you to tag along in any way, shape, or form. Nor sneaking off and going to confront Serket before we got there. Honestly, I am getting really tired of dealing with you being mind controlled whenever you show up where you aren’t supposed to fucking be in the first place.”

“Maybe I was just going to case out the place and make sure you all weren’t going to walk into a fucking trap and die gruesome deaths, KK,” he shoots back. “Just because we aren’t moirails anymore does not mean I suddenly stopped caring what happened to your useless hide!”

You rub your forehead in annoyance, “That was a nice idea and all, but you _knew_ that spiderbitch was a psychic. How could you not realize that she would sense your presence? See, this is the reason I agreed to be your moirail in the first place. You very obviously need someone to keep you in check, or you go off doing the stupidest damn thing possible. I just…I can’t do it anymore, Sol. I can’t be your moirail and I can’t stand seeing you fuck up so much because of me. Have you even tried talking to any of the other trolls in the hive?”

He sneers at that, “Like it is that easy. Serendipity is just waiting around the corner, right? I’ll find my perfect moirail and go off into the sunset with them, is that it? Not everything works out as well for others as it does for you, _seadweller_.” Your blood runs cold at that, and you can feel your expression tighten. Taking jabs at your race was something he only did when he wanted to hurt you, and it really made no sense that he would be bringing it up now. 

“Boys, do not make me auspistice between the two of you,” warns Kanaya as she finally joins both of you at the table. “You both have valid points. Captor, you should at least be open to the possibility of serendipity and spend more time getting to know other trolls. And my darling, you cannot undo what has been done; the wheels of revolution are already turning. Now let us enjoy our meal in companionable silence or pleasant chatter; otherwise I will be forced to intervene and toss _you_ outside and _you_ back into the fabric pile.”

The two of you immediately stop your bickering, because if there is one thing Kanaya has proven, it is that she does not make empty threats. That and food is a good way to distract any teenager from whatever they were doing. Although normally you would be swearing off food after that veritable feast she made you devour this morning, you strangely find room in you to eat more than your share yet again. Considering that seadwellers are supposed to have slower metabolisms than their lowblood brethren, this is in of itself a feat. Then again, you had been expending way more energy than you had lately, so hopefully it would not all go straight to your ass and hips. You had long ago given up on getting much taller, after all. Kanaya makes a pleased noise when you go for thirds, and you almost care enough to stop shoveling food down your proteinchute. Almost.

“Enjoy it while it lasts, Kanaya,” Sollux twirls a fork in his food instead of eating it. “Bloodrages always do this to him. He’ll be back to his normal anorexic self in no time.”

“Then I suppose I should savor the moment,” she smiles conspiratorially. “Is this because of energy expenditure, Karkat? Or perhaps this is due to some sort of emotional response?”

“Oh my Gog! I never thought of it like that,” chuckles the lowblood. “It is an emotional response, isn’t it? You’re fucking binge eating like some bitch who got dumped.”

“Fnnk ooth err ooo, aahhhols,” your insult is rather ineffective when delivered around a large mouthful of oinkbeast. You do appreciate that instead of downright laughing like Sollux, your moirail covers her mouth so that you cannot see her mirth. Although the way her shoulders are twitching tells you she is likely giggling as quietly as possible. You suffer through it with only a pointed glare, because you are a fucking saint. Seriously, there should be larger-than-life statues of you on every street corner for as much shit as you put up with.

“At least you seem to have gotten over your hopbeast imitation,” Sollux spears a meatball with his fork and begins to roll it absentmindedly. “Freezing up at the beginning of a fight always did end up with getting your ass handed to you, though.”

“Like you are one to talk,” you roll your eyes after finally swallowing your food. Jegus, how could you still be this hungry? “Without your psionics you would be toast in a minute flat and you know it. The only one of us here who would likely survive a drawn out battle is Kanaya here, and most of her life she never got any practice in. How sad is that?”

“Perhaps if you ate and slept on a regular schedule, you would be in better condition to fight,” suggest your moirail. “Honestly, Karkat, you look like a half-dead troll most of the time. Lack of appetite does not appear to be the problem, so there must be some sort of underlying cognitive reasoning that pushes you to abjure sustenance.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, “Jegus, woman. I just am not hungry most of the time. It’s not like I am not starving myself to death.”

“Actually,” cuts in Sollux, “that is precisely what it looks like. What happened, KK? You used to do just fine as long as there was actually enough food for the both of us. And Gog save us all when we actually found something sweet. I seem to recall you actually biting my fucking hand for trying to steal a cookie once.”

By now your ears are definitely starting to heat up, “I said I was fine!”

“Obviously you are not,” the jadeblood raises one perfect eyebrow. “Captor, what perchance did you normal diet mainly consist of?”

“Whatever we could get our grubby mitts on, mostly,” he shrugged. “Mushrooms, some featherbeasts, and what we could fish out of… the water…oh.”

Kanaya is nodding already, “I think we have seriously overlooked the most vital aspect of the issue. Darling, you are a seatroll.”

You eye her warily, “Yeah, so?”

“Dude, do you honestly believe that most seatrolls go around eating land beasts?” the mutant is scoffing at you.

“What I think we are trying to get at is that perhaps a supply of terrestrial flora and fauna is not adequate for your nutritional needs,” corrects your moirail. “You simply are malnourished because you are not receiving the appropriate diet.”

“So, what? You want us to go hunt down some Crabdad-lookalikes like that damn oliveblood did? No thank you. I’d rather have my oculars squeezed out and put on a slice of toasted grubloaf like jelly. I am not going to be a fucking cannibal.”

She paps you from her seat across the table, “Shoosh. There are many other things in the ocean to eat besides lusii. Luckily I spent quite a bit of time aboard Ampora’s ship and I have gleaned a thing or two about preparing seafood. All we will have to do is find a supplier of ingredients. Unless, of course, you want to hunt for yourself.”

You groan, “This is sounding more and more like you are not going to take no for an answer. Maybe I don’t _want_ to eat seaweed or blubberbeasts.”

“In this instance, I am afraid what you want and what is good for you are not the same thing, so I am overriding your decision as your moirail. Dearest, if you do not cease banging your head on the table, I will put a mat down to absorb some of the impact.”

* * * * * *

The very next night, an extremely chipper oliveblood is waltzing into Kanaya’s quarters, dragging a large cart behind her. After her customary glomp and subsequent jadeblood scolding, Nepeta is practically vibrating in excitement. You have to give her credit that she had waited approximately forty hours after finding out about your new status on the hemospectrum before she decided to come pester you. You could almost feel bad for Zahhak since he had to deal with her pent-up excitement all this time. Almost.

“Karkitty, I heard all about your pawblems from Terezi and I’ve got just the thing for you!” she gleefully announces. “Ta-da!” Whipping off the lid from a large platter, she revealed what appeared to be half of a Gogdamn gillbeast the size of, well, you. You are gaping at it, not quite sure what to think of the delicious-smelling steam rising from it. At least she had taken the time to get it cooked before dragging it up here.

“What is that?” Sollux is wrinkling his nose. “Is that a- you hunted down a fucking shark? Not that I’m not impressed, but I’m not sure that is exactly something even seadwellers eat on a regular basis.”

“Nonsense!” Kanaya is grinning. “It happens to be quite a delicacy that is usually prepared for special occasions or the more affluent. You have done quite a good job in cooking it, Leijon. I may have to ask you for some pointers.”

The girl is now literally wiggling in ecstasy, “Of course, Maryam! I would be pawsitively delighted to help out! What do you think, Karkitty?” They all stop to look at you expectantly, and suddenly you feel really put on the spot.

“Uh, thanks Nepeta,” you gulp before deciding to be honest. “Okay, it smells awesome and I will probably eat half of it on my own. But seriously, isn’t it dangerous for you to go out into the ocean hunting stuff?”

“Well, Pounce does get purrtty upset about me going fishing, but Equius never lets me go alone anyway,” she purses her lips. “We never go out very fur, so it’s pawbably safe enough.”

Kanaya is already setting the table, “Why don’t we all settle down and have some lunch? It is close enough to the next feeding on the schedule anyway.”

“I am not a grub,” you grumble, even as you go to sit down. You long ago learned there is not much point in arguing with her about this particular subject, but you feel obliged to let your displeasure be known anyway. The damn lowblood is snickering as he takes a seat across from you, and the poor hunterrorist just looks confused.

Soon there are heaping potions of shark meat piled in front of you, along with steamed seaweed (that looked about as appetizing as the sludge you would find in the bottom of a stream) and some shellbeasts that looked like giant versions of the freshwater clams you used to dig out of the streambed. Glancing over, you can see that the others have smaller portions of your food to try, but they get the normal stuff like roast bleatbeast and other things you have practically grown up eating. They are all staring as you pick up your fork and suddenly you wonder if they are half as interested in how it tastes as they are in how much of a mess you are going to make devouring half a fucking shark.

“Do you guys have to stare at me like I am some sort of fascinating new species of troll or something?” you snarl as you spear some meat with your utensil. “Because I would really appreciate it if you would all just eat your own Gogdamn food or something.” They all chuckle at you, but go back to their own business. While they are thus distracted, you shove the shark meat in your mouth and remind yourself to chew. It surprisingly does not taste neither fishy nor salty, like you had expected. It has a different texture than a lot of the meats you are used to eating, but it is savory and spicy and slightly buttery on your tongue. Fuck eating half of it, they’ll be lucky if you don’t swipe their portions straight off their plates.

Only the thought of how long they will tease you keeps you from bolting it down in three seconds flat. As it is, minding your manners has gone from a slightly irksome chore to downright torture after your second helping of meat. Sollux is the first to catch on, and as soon as he opens his mouth your moirail bans you from getting any more until you eat ‘your greens.’ You have to think really long and hard about whether stabbing your ex-moirail for this new betrayal was worth it, but in the end you realize they probably would not let you finish lunch if you did.

“It doesn’t even look like anything anymore,” you gripe as you play with the goop. “It is green sludge at this point.”

“Stop being a wriggler, KK,” a split tongue waggles at you. “I even tried it. It’s not that bad.” You glare at him as Kanaya talks over your rebuttal.

“I am quite serious, dearest,” she paps the top of your head. “Eat your vegetables or you are not getting any more shark. And your oysters.”

“How? They’re as big as my fucking head!” you poke one with your fork, just to see if it miraculously has become more tender since the last time you tried to gnaw a part of one off. None of them have anything helpful to say about that, so you finally brave eating the sludge. It is salty and mushy and kind of tastes like every other dark green vegetable- like dirt and the tears of wrigglers. Grubsauce could not even save it, in your opinion. You choke it down, chewing as little as possible, and then glare at the oysters. All that is keeping you from more of that delicious shark are three roundish blobs of muscle that are nearly impossible to actually eat. After a few moments of struggling to try and tear a piece off with your fangs, you literally throw it at the lowblood for laughing at your predicament.

“You know, KK, maybe if your fangs weren’t blunt little nubs you could actually manage to eat them,” he continues to mock you.

You snarl back, “Because my fangs are totally my fucking fault, huh? What about your mangled wreck of a piehole?” Then Kanaya has her ornamental dagger out and you flinch as she literally chops up the offending dish for you. “Oh. Huh. Is that what those fucking things were for in the first place?”

She smiles, “I have no idea, but it works rather nicely.” You bolt down the bite-sized pieces without even chewing at all (no real point, since your fangs could not pierce the morsels) and then expectantly give her a pointed look. “Fair enough, but if you do not start chewing your food you are going to choke,” she piles on some more shark meat.

“Where does it all _go_?” whistles Nepeta as she watches you tuck into your third helping.

“My hypothesis is that he is completely hollow on the inside,” confides the mutant. “No organs or anything. It’s just a giant space for food storage.”

“Wow, if Karkitty likes it this much, I should pawbably go find some more recipes,” the oliveblood muses aloud. “I wonder if Vriskers has any.”

Now that was a good way to get you to stop shoveling food in your mouth, “What?”

“Miss Leijon, you cannot be serious,” Kanaya finishes the thought for you. “We could not trust Corsair Serket for anything, let alone the dietary requirements of my moirail.”

“But her hissmesis is a seatroll,” argues Nepeta. “She knows all sorts of stuff!”

“Be that as it may, we could not trust her not to take revenge upon Karkat for cutting off her arm,” the jadeblood’s tone is quite final. “We can find someone else to help us.”

* * * * * *

Three nights later and your appetite has diminished, but not yet completely disappeared. Between your moirail and one pesky oliveblood, there has been a continuous supply of different sea creatures for you to eat. They ignore any and all arguments you make towards it being wasteful and impractical to go so far out of their way for one troll out of the whole hive. And since Gamzee is away on business (whatever that means), Terezi was left in charge. She downright laughed in your face when you complained to her. Apparently she liked to go hunting for sharks herself. So when Zahhak himself walks through the doorway (careful not to bump into the doorframe) you just about have a bloodpusher attack right then and there.

“Vantas,” he nods, and you cannot believe that he is not only acknowledging your presence, but that he actually remembered your name. “Miss Maryam, could we borrow your moirail for a few hours?”

Kanaya looks about as amenable to this prospect as you feel, “Might I require as to why you are making such a request?”

“We’re going to take Karkitty fishing!” Nepeta finally manages to squeeze past her hulking moirail and tackles you.

“What?” you stare blankly at her, pretending that you had misheard.

“We thought that such skills would prove useful to a young seadweller,” Zahhak is explaining, and you try not to bristle at the way he kind of bites out the last word. “Also, if the issue of diet has been made, then it is equally sensible to conjecture that the environment is also a factor in Vantas’s health.” There is no way Kanaya would fall for something so obvi-

“Indeed, I had surmised much the same,” she is nodding and oh shit why is she agreeing with that hulking blueblood? “I was prepared to wait until Lord Makara returned, since he would be the best choice available for such excursions, but if you are willing and able to take him out to sea, I will allow you to do so. However, if he returns with even one hair on his head harmed, I will be carving your hide, my lord.”

“Wait, _what_?” panic levels definitely rising. “Uh, guys? Don’t I have a say in this?”

“Under normal circumstances yes,” your moirail takes your hands in hers, “but you are such unbelievably oinkbeastheaded about things that are good for you that I am overruling you in this case. It will undoubtedly aid your health to get some saltwater in your gills.”

You grimace. You cannot believe that she just brought up your gills in front of fucking Zahhak and Nepeta. The giant had seen them before, but you particularly like to believe that he was far enough away not to get a good look at them. The autistic cat girl just looks curious and excited about the chance to see you with less clothing on. You try really hard to stop thinking about that.

“Look, guys, not that I don’t fu- uh, appreciate you trying to help out and everything, but I’m not exactly the best swimmer,” you admit. “I kind of had all my flippers and fins hacked off so I could blend in with the indigenous population, remember? Those are a seadweller’s balance system, so basically I’m useless in the water.”

There is a brief pause before Zahhak incredulously asks, “Are you telling us that you have never learned to swim?”

You facepalm, “That is exactly what I am telling you. I have been underwater all of twice my entire life. Once was when that fucking gillbeast in the marshes pulled me under and tried to eat me, causing Sollux to have to lob psionics underwater until it let go. The second time was when I fell off Ampora’s ship and kind of thrashed my way to the rowboat.”

“Come now, Karkat,” smiles the jadeblood. “It did not look _that_ uncoordinated. From what I understand, swimming should be fairly instinctual for you. Just promise that you will give it a fair try?”

Grumbling, you have no choice but to consent. You would eat shards of glass for the woman, and she knows it. The only good thing about the whole ordeal was that you were pretty sure that you would not drown. Getting swept out to sea by a riptide or being attacked by some ocean monstrosity, however, was pretty likely. No one else seemed concerned about your very rational misgivings, so you ended up getting gently shoved out the door.

The whole way up the beach, Zahhak did not say a word. You were not going as far as to drag your feet, but you were less than talkative yourself. To fill in the silence, his tiny moirail chatted away the entire time. She pestered you for details about your life in the marshes (which you mostly avoided), your unwillingness to swim (which you countered with no use learning if you were inland), and just about every other thing she could think of (most of which you would indulge her with an answer). When she sidled up next to you and started whispering, you knew that it was not going to be good.

“So…” she trailed off in a vain attempt to sound casual, “you and the Grand Highblood?”

Your eyes narrowed, “Yeah. What about us?”

“Aw, come on, Karkitty,” she implored. “You’ve just got to give me something to work with here! Just give me a few details!”

“Nepeta, I am not discussing the intricacies of my love life with you,” you growl. “Not only is that vastly inappropriate to begin with, but despite my rather colorful vocabulary it is not your business who or how I am fucking.”

“You’re no fun at all,” pouts the girl. “It’s not like it is a big deal or anything.”

“Really now?” your eyebrow raises. “So if I happen to trot up to Zahhak over there and let him in on what we are talking about, he would not disapprove in any way, shape, or form about how ‘lewd’ our conversation is? Hmm?” You watch as her eyes widen with shock and mild fear, glancing over quickly to her hulking moirail.

“Uh…” is her reply.

“I would most heartily disapprove of such conduct,” Zahhak calls back without even turning around, causing you both to jump. “Then I would demand that you two include me in the conversation, because I might have something to add about the Grand Highblood.”

The oliveblood bursts into delighted gales of laughter, bounding up to tackle his back and demanding that he strong-arm you into talking. Although he declines, your face is probably brick red at this point. Fucking Gamzee’s choice in a kismesis, and you are stuck with him for the rest of the night. You are so screwed.


	15. Equius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now for another new point of view, this time from an elitist b100b100d who is ridiculously STRONG.

Besides being the most foul-mouthed troll in existence, Karkat is also regrettably bristly. He gets upset over the most trivial of things, resorting to snarled swears and empty threats when things don’t go his way. Although it tries your patience, you are bound and determined to see this through (and you moirail will hold you to it). He reminds you of those little fish that puff up when they are startled, prickly needles pointing in all directions. You hated to admit that it was a rather cute analogy.

Wait. Fiddlesticks. You did not just refer to the (mutant?) seadweller as cute. As the matesprit of your former kismesis, such thoughts were completely inappropriate. Even if you did want to pick him up and carry him like a grub for dragging his feet. It did not help matters any that he was as tiny as Nepeta. The kid was nothing but skin and bones.

Looking at him now, you wondered how you could have ever thought he was a lowblood. His cheekbones were prominent and high on his skull-like face, his nose (although crooked) had that seadweller’s slight ridge. Those big, abnormally-red eyes were adjusted perfectly for the darkness of the ocean waters. Also, he was decidedly not stocky enough to be a rustblood. Even his limbs were thinner than they should have been, since his body was built for cutting through waves and not trudging along the land.

In short, you were amazed he had managed to hold his bluff for as long as he did. Surely someone somewhere along the line must have noticed that his features were odd for an inlander. And if they had, he must have surely dealt with them as a threat, since he was still very much so alive and well. Since the fight with Serket, you actually could imagine him doing so. Your respect for the lad had shifted upwards. Just a little bit. A smidge.

“Are you fucking shitting me?”

Okay, perhaps you had been premature in your judgment. You look from his slack-jawed expression to your small rowboat (little more than a dingy). His fingers are twitching as if he would very dearly like to wrap those tiny hands around your throat. One of his eyes is twitching in unison. You successfully resist the urge to laugh at his expense.

“What’s wrong Karkitty?” your moirail pats his shoulder as if that will make him suddenly stop malfunctioning.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” his incredulous voice raises a tad. “What’s wrong is you insane assholes want me to go back out there, where I nearly died on numerous occasions, in a boat that looks like it is even more small and banged-up than the one we fucking escaped in. I would like to note here that I was bailing water out of the damn thing before we even saw land. It is actually probably still on the seabed not far from here. So, yeah, that would be what’s wrong.”

You sternly frown down at him, “I assure you that _The Teakettle_ is quite safe.”

He just stares at you. “…You named it… _The Teakettle_? You named a fucking rowboat that needs to be chopped up and used as firewood. And you named it _The Teakettle_. That’s it. I’ve actually already died and I am now in some sort of warped afterlife where nothing makes sense anymore. Could some bulgelicker relay to my moirail that I am _not_ in a better place?”

“Technically, Nepeta named the boat,” you correct him. “And I must insist that you attempt to refrain from cursing anymore. Such behavior is not suitable for someone of your stature. Plus, Nepeta is impressionable and I do not want her to hear such talk.”

“My what now?” he squints as if trying to parse out whether or not you were insulting him in some way. “Is that a reference to my size or my blood, because I’m having a little bit of trouble figuring out which. I suppose it could be both, but that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I was referring more to your household position,” you inform him. “As the matesprit of the Grand Highblood, you should always do your best to be an example to the rest of trollkind. He is a much feared and respected member of society along the coastlands, after all.” He is still kind of gaping at you, so you add on, “Lord Makara is a bit lax in his own manners. You will have to pick up the slack.”

“Huh,” shrugs the boy. “You sound a bit like Kanaya when you talk like that. I’ve been curbing the swearing, but she’s my moirail and I’d do anything for her. She also pays me in fucking sweets. So unless you’ve got some cakes or something on you, I don’t give a damn if my language gets on your nerves, asshole.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale deeply. It is going to be a really, really long night.

* * * * *

After you rowed out into the open waters, the two of you find yourselves staring expectantly at the seatroll. Said seatroll appears to be very close to losing his shit. His bony fingers are clamped down on the railing hard enough that you think he might actually leave dents, and his nubby excuses for fangs worry away at his bottom lip. If you watch closely, you can even see his scarred ears twitch downwards like they want to pin back. Obviously when his psionic friend had surgically removed anything that looked like fins he had nicked the small muscles that controlled ear movement. You wonder briefly if he has trouble with fine motor control in his digits.

“Come on, Karkitty,” your moirail already sounds fed up, which surprises you. “Just jump in the water already! We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

He actually growls at her, “Oh really? And how exactly do either of you plan on rescuing my sorry ass when an indiscriminate fucker of the deep decides I look tasty? Or worse, if another nookwhiffing seatroll sees me floundering around down there? I don’t see any gills on either of you bastards.”

That actually gives you both pause for a moment. There had been numerous occasions when you had fought off curious ocean creatures before, but normally you both were in the relative safety of _The Teakettle_. Vantas would not have the luxury of being out of the water. Quite the contrary- he would probably be so far under it that you would be unable to aid him if things got out of hand.

As sharp as he is, he catches on to your sudden uncertainty. Before you can blink, he is cranking the pity-pleading up a notch. His already large eyes grow huge as his eyebrows draw together and upwards. Oh my Gog. You swear that his bottom lip is jutting out just the tiniest bit. You would feel ashamed for him if you did not realize how terrified he must be. It is as if he is trying to psychically communicate just how badly he does not want to do this.

Your fingers slip under your darkened glasses to rub at your eyelids, “Shirt off.”

Without even looking, you can feel the kid wilt. He knows there is no way to get out of it at this point save from jumping ship and swimming back to shore. And, more so, he knows that you know it. That does nothing to stop the incessant grumbling about how unhappy he is. By the time you have coaxed your forming headache down to tolerable levels and open your eyes again, you really wish you had left them closed.

The boy is curled up on himself as tightly as he can manage, stick-thin arms wrapped around him. Bare from the waist up, he is shivering against the light wind in a way that suggested that you get him into the water as quickly as possible. However, it was his general condition that caused your growing alarm. You could count every rib on his body, and below his large ribcage his stomach is sunken in. Last time you saw a troll so thin, you were pretty sure it was dead. It is not until he starts snarling lowly that you realize you are staring.

“Ahem,” you clear your throat nervously as you pick up the end of a length of rope, “right. Come here.” His eyes lock onto the cord in your massive paws and the low snarl abruptly evolves into a teakettle hiss. Scrambling as far back as he can possibly get from you, he huddles under the prow of the boat like you are some kind of genuine threat to him. When you shift as if to move forward, his reaction of baring fangs and readying claws is enough to make you hastily reconsider. You lean back and raise both hands in appeasement, wondering what this was all about.

Then Nepeta swipes the rope from you with a glare, and you realize what that must have looked like to the seadweller. A great hulking adult landtroll demanding things and holding a rope, all while trapped in a small space with no escape. You had even ordered him to start to undress. You groan and lower your forehead to your palm (long ago you had discovered that facepalming as violently as Vantas was prone to would leave indigo-colored bruises). Although your pride was a bit wounded about the ordeal, you cannot believe how nonchalant the whole thing had been to you.

Your moirail is crouched down near the prow, calmly placating the boy. You feel the urge to justify your actions and attempt to make him understand you meant no harm, “Uh, that was not at all what I meant.” Both of them glare at you and you can feel your cheeks begin to blue, “I wanted to tie the rope around your waist. To, uh- Fiddlesticks! It was so that I could pull you out of the water. If you ran into trouble.” They blink at you for a moment.

“Wait,” the boy frowns. “Like, as in using me as some kind of fishing bait?”

“Actually,” mulls the oliveblood, “that sounds like the purrfect plan!” She turns back to the seatroll, “If you get caught up in something, you can give your end a tug! And then fwoosh! STRONG PULL! Eq can get you back up here to us. Simple as that!” She looks very pleased with her reasoning.

“That sounds exactly like I am being used as fucking bait,” he wrinkles his nose.

“Well it is either that or I get Eq to chuck you over the side of the boat,” counters your moirail, crossing her arms. “You are going swimming tonight, Karkitty.”

“Fucking awesome,” he groans. “…Hand me the rope.”

* * * * *

Remaining calm is something that you pride yourself in doing, no matter how tempting it is to lose your temper and start using sheer force to get your way. As it is, standing on the opposite end of the boat with the end of the cord hanging from your hands is almost torture when the seadweller is obviously waffling about this whole thing. You try not to glower as you patiently wait for the tiny troll to get over his ridiculous complaining and get in the water. He looks pleadingly at your moirail one last time, and she bristles at him.

"You are being such a wriggler about this, Karkitty! Just get in there already!" she points with one claw at the waves. He flinches and guiltily looks over at the water gently lapping the sides of the boat. Sidling closer to the edge, he kind of just leans over and looks down. You know for a fact that he cannot hope to see more than a few feet underwater, but his ears kind of droop a little bit all the same. "Karkat! I swear to Gog I will let Equius throw you!"

"I'm going! I'm going, you crazyass woman!" he sneers, but all three of you know that it is empty bravado. All the same, he takes a deep breath and in one fluid movement he is over the side and slipping into the water. You would be more impressed if he were not still clinging to the side of the boat. And also if his expression was not one of guarded pessimism. The way he was acting, you would think he was actually a lowblood capable of drowning instead of having built-in gills. In fact, you can see the dull red gashes through the water. It looked like they were enlarged (and perhaps a bit brighter).

"You okay there Karkitty?" Nepeta is leaning over the side so she can put her face right in front of his. He instinctively draws back as far as he can, but there is only so far he can lean while still holding on to the edge.

"Uh, I guess so?" he averts his gaze. "It's... different from-"

"Good," she cuts him off, suddenly reaching out and dunking his head under the water. "Now go swim, you moron!" He comes up spluttering and... flailing. There really was no other way to describe those erratic, uncoordinated movements. Suddenly an interesting thought comes to you and you switch to your observational mode. You note that his fingers are spread wide and curled. His legs kick out in a rhythm, but there is not enough movement in them to do much more than keep him barely afloat. Pupils blown wide in panic, he is operating solely on instinct. The only problem was that his instincts were those of a seadweller. One that still had flippers and fins.

You pinch the bridge of your nose as gently as you can, but you swear you can still hear something groaning, "Vantas, calm down. You are only going to make matters worse. And breath through your gills. Please. They are there for a reason."

Somehow he manages to latch back on to the side of the boat, snarling in his fear-tinged adrenaline rush, "I fucking know that! But somehow getting stuck walking along the bottom of the motherfucking ocean does not strike me as a particularly pleasant experience, douchewagon! Oh, sure, I can't exactly drown. No big deal! Just mosey along the seafloor with my thumb up my ass and wait for something to decide that defenseless troll looks mighty delicious!"

You already have blocked out his voice as your eyes zoom in on his hands. Despite the rather blunt claws digging into the worn wood, his hands strike you as strangely thin and long-fingered. Delicate, you would call them. With how he was holding them earlier, there would have been web between them to help with buoyancy. As it was, the boy was not joking when he proclaimed that he was a sitting quackbeast in the water. His instincts were screaming at him to do things that he literally could not do any more. No wonder he avoided the water as much as possible.

Holding up a hand to halt his tirade, you muse, "I think I have an idea on how to fix this issue. I will need to speak with your moirail.” You pause for a moment, “Your muscle tone is lacking. I've seen Ampora lift a boat this size above his head and throw it in the middle of an argument."

"Well I'm not the fucking Prince of Sharkpailers, now am I?" he grumbles, already looking like a petulant child about to pout. How in the name of Gog did someone that adorable and pathetic manage to live this long? You would hug him if you were not absolutely certain doing so would snap his spine. However, you can shape him up into a respectable seadweller.

"No, you are decidedly less slimy," you point out. "And much smaller. Stay in the water." He gives you a quizzical look as you dip the oars and begin to row again. Then he realizes that his grip is loosening as the waves try to pull him from the boat. He gives you a look that makes you think that perhaps he was trying to use some sort of psychic power to make your head explode right off your shoulders. "Move down to the end and swim in the wake. You are not going far." You motion with one boot at the rope you had tied around the bench. Since the other end was tied around him, there should be no way that you could lose him. And although he complains enough to put a whole cavern full of wrigglers to shame, he does as you ask.

* * * * *

"What the Hell are these?" he is wrinkling his thin, crooked nose as if something particularly repugnant had just been given to him instead of what looked to be some new gloves and boots.

"That would be your replacement fins," you attempt to explain. "Your inability to balance in the water is due largely to your instincts being those of a seadweller, while your body has been modified to be a landdweller..." You trail off as he holds up one glove and spreads the fingers apart to gape at the flap of stiff fabric between them. Hopefully the system the two of you had come up with was strong enough to withstand the pressure of the ocean and the speed of a swimming seatroll.

" _This_ is what you were making, Kanaya?" Karkat turns to her as if she has betrayed him. The poleaxed expression would be more amusing only if it had been something even more ridiculous that he was throwing a fit over. Oh dear. You are beginning to suspect that you are getting used to the boy (and perhaps a bit fond of him). Fiddlesticks! You did not just think that.

"Zahhak has made a most excellent point," she shrugs lightly. "You require fins to swim. I had the means to make you some. I see nothing to cause you such distress, my darling."

"Come on, Karkitty!" Nepeta is sidling up next to him with that glint in her eye. "They are purrfect! Besides, you looked much better after our first trip."

"Yes, because apparently swimming for so long that I pass out from exhaustion and have to be fished out of the water is attractive to you. I trout that any of you ev-GODDAMN FISH PUNS! WHY? I CAN GO SWEEPS AND SWEEPS WITHOUT SAYING A SINGLE ONE. AND THEN BAM! YOU ASSHOLES DRAG ME TO THE OCEAN AND NOW I CANNOT EVEN SEE THEM COMING. THEY JUST SPEW FROM MY MOUTH AT RANDOM LIKE A VOLCANO OF STUPIDITY!"

The jadeblood smacks him lightly, "Oh, shoosh!" She levels a look at you, "I expect him back well before sunrise, Zahhak."

You give a very serious nod, "Of course."

"I fucking hate all you," grumbles the redblood. "In a platonic way. Forever." You choose to ignore this comment, as your little moirail is already dragging him out the door with an eagerness that would be adorable if you were not certain she harbored an unrequited flushcrush on the boy. Before you know it, the three of you are in _The Teakettle_ once again, rowing out into open waters. The boy is stripped down to a pair of shorts, shivering in the wind and looking severely putout by the whole ordeal. Even though your oliveblood is helping Karkat put on his custom flipper-boots, he is staring at his gloved hands with an expression of extreme distaste.

"I forgot how ridiculous these things were," he snorts, attempting to waggle his fingers and becoming annoyed with the restriction to their movement. "How the Hell did I ever manage to do anything? I can't even gesture for you to fuck off properly. That's like my favorite thing to gesture." He demonstrates for the two of you, showing that he can only manage to curl his fingers halfway before the connecting webs begin to drag his middle finger down as well.

"You pawbably should not tell your meowrail, or she might make you wear them all the time," smirks Nepeta. "You should try to wiggle your toes next!" 

He complies, making faces at the webs between them. "Feels weird."

"Well, it looks weird," she happily informs him. "Now in the water, Karkitty!" Without any other warning, she lifts him up and heaves him over the edge of the boat (which would have surprised you, had the boy not been virtually made out of twigs). You halt immediately and lift the oars out of the water, hoping that you did not accidentally club him to death while trying to row. A second later, his head breaks the surface, hissing obscenities (not that swearing was any form of measurement on his well being). Even though his movements are still jagged and halting, he seems to be having an easier time keeping his head above the waves. After a moment, he appears to realize this as well.

"Whoa," he lifts one hand out of the water to look at the artificial webs. "This actually does make it a bit better. I mean, I don't feel like I'm suddenly going to list to one side or something." He sort of does a little shimmy from one side to the other, as if testing his balance. Then he goes a bit further out from the boat, still making little halting movements this way and that. It reminds you of watching a little chirpbeast readying to fly for the first time. Then you can literally see as he gets some sort of idea, "Oh my fucking Gog." He disappears underwater for a moment, reappearing with a fantastic somersault (only a little off balance) out of the water. Then he is under the waves again with a splash that completely soaks Nepeta. By the time he returns, his pupils are blown wide, "I can actually _do_ shit!"

"Vantas..." you try to figure out the least offensive way of wording this, "did you never go swimming before you hacked off all your fins in a vain attempt to remain anonymous?"

"I lived in the deep inlands," he snorts. "Was not much there in the way of swimming. I mean, Crabdad would let me fill up the ablution trap and splash around in it, but that was it. Even after that, I can count the number of times I've been in deep water on one hand, and usually it was because I was knocked or pulled in by something."

"Karkitty! Karkitty!" Nepeta is trying to splash him to get his attention. "Do another jump, Karkitty!" And although he rolls his crimson eyes, he cannot help the grin forming upon his face. He dips his head underwater for a moment, then squirts her with a stream of water from his mouth. He cackles as she yowls at him, moving out of reach with an ease that seems completely at odds with last night. Then to appease her, he tries another jump. About halfway through, he twists so that he is spinning by like a corkscrew. He hits a wave at just the right angle that it stops him flat, and he looks more than a little stunned when he sinks back down beneath the surface.

"Karkat!" squeaks Nepeta, her eyes going big.

"Vantas!" you hurry to peer over the edge, accidentally gripping the railing hard enough to cause great, splintering cracks to appear. The two of you lean over for a moment, and then you are shucking off your armor and tunic as quickly as you can. You are literally moments away from diving in after him when he resurfaces, dazed and coughing up little rivulets of saltwater. He seems to be thrashing about again. When you reach out an arm, he grabs your wrist gratefully and lets you haul him out of the water. Except you only manage to get him about halfway out when you note that there is something clinging onto his legs. It appears to be a large tentacle. You give a small tug, and teenager's grasp on your forearm nearly breaks.

You debate for a moment what to do. Grabbing the seadweller himself would surely end up causing him more harm, but letting him back in the water where you could not see was not an option. Nepeta breaks your dilemma by grabbing onto the boy's arms and yanking him as hard as she could. He grimaces and sputters, but the creature of the deep simply tugs back just as hard. Reaching over with your free arm, you grab at the tentacle and pull. A few of the suctions cups pop off, leaving ugly dull-red welts where they had been attached. It responds by tightening its hold.

"Owowow!" screeches the boy. "Holy shit on a sponge! Fuck, just let it eat me! Let it eat me!"

You snort derisively, grabbing the appendage with both hands. You bark a single order at your moirail, "Pull!" You heave at the same time the little oliveblood tugs on seatroll, and he goes tumbling into the boat as you haul the beast out of the water with him. It opens a beak-like maw to roar at the three of you, obviously irritated that its meal was trying to escape. You introduce that same maw to your fist, and it crumples with a satisfactory crunching sound. The monstrosity's grip loosens; occasionally it pays to use sheer force.

Nepeta is up and leaping forward with her battle claws in a flash, and she tackles a tentacle that was snaking its way towards your foot. A few more punches later, and the head of the giant squid is looking a lot more like violet pulp than anything recognizable. With one last shudder, it suddenly falls still. You glance over to see how injured the boy is and are surprised to find him kicking his way free of the monster already.

“Two fucking minutes in the water!” he finally gets free and gives one last kick to the tentacle. “ _Two_ motherfucking minutes and something tries to eat me. Brilliant! Remind me again why this was a wonderful idea? Because I’m really having a hard time remembering that.”

Your little moirail crouches down and looks him straight in the eye, “Karkitty. You are going to have calameowri for dinner.” He stares at her for a moment from where he lies half propped up on his elbows. You are beginning to wonder if he had incurred head trauma when suddenly he starts to giggle. He curls one hand in front of his mouth apologetically, as if the noise surprised him, but seems unable to stop regardless.

“Oh my Gog!” he breathily exclaims. “You assholes really did just use me as fishing bait. I should be way more offended by this idea. Wait for the adrenaline rush to pass. And the possible concussion.”

“Oh fiddlesticks!” you groan, somewhat distraught. “Your moirail is going to be most upset.” For some reason this just sends him into harder gales of laughter. You will never understand the mind of this teenager.

* * * * *

Three weeks later and already the improvement is obvious to anyone who has seen the seadweller. He has put on some weight (all muscle, thanks no doubt to your strict training regimen) and is a good way to actually looking like a healthy troll. An added bonus appears to be the fact he is now completely comfortable in the water- provided, of course, that he has some sort of weapon with him. Although at first you were worried he would ruin the sickles you had crafted with the salt water, you have yourself observed him dutifully cleaning and oiling them after each and every swim.

Thus far, the only ones that know the boy has gills on him are the members of the Grand Highblood’s hive, you, and Nepeta. Oh, and Sersket. You always try to put her out of mind, except when thinking of ways to dethrone her. Although at this point, you are starting to think that she is biding her time, since her wounds should be sufficiently healed enough for her to seek vengeance upon Vantas.

Still, you make sure that the boy never dives in without the rope firmly tied around his waist. Even if he has his sickles and there should not be any seatrolls along the coastline, you were not going to take any frivolous risks with his wellbeing. Especially after the incident with the squid. You have no doubts the dainty jadeblood would have ripped you limb from limb if her moirail had not convinced her that it was his fault for ‘showing off like an imbecile.’

So this night finds you once again patiently sitting in _The Teakettle_ , waiting for the seadweller to resurface with whatever beast he has hunted down for dinner. You are reading one of the many raunchy romance novels that no one must ever find out about, and Nepeta is whittling away at a block of wood. If anyone asks, you both have an unspoken agreement to claim each other’s hobbies. After all, you were well-known for making things with your hands, and your moirail was your primary source for obtaining your questionable narratives.

Suddenly, the rope tied around your wrist jerks a few times before turning into a steady pull. You frown, setting your book to the side. Vantas has not implemented the safety system since the first week, when he actually managed to kill a fish so large that he could not haul it to the surface on his own. Hopefully he had not encountered any danger. With a heave, you start pulling as quickly as you can.

Nepeta quickly moves over to the side of the boat, claws at the ready in case something alive was coming up with him. One final tug later, and you are staring in disbelief at what just came out of the water. You and Nepeta gape at each other for a moment. Nothing had prepared either of you to simply see the frayed end of a sliced rope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay guys this was actually really fun. i never much cared for equius so i was a little apprehensive bout writin this chapter from his point of view. i hope i did him justice. 
> 
> anyway it might be awhile before my next chapter since volunteer work and whatnot is keepin me busy. however i do not plan to abandon this fic ever, so as soon as i have some serious writin time i will work on it diligently. id say the next chapter will be out in a month, tops. sorry for the long break everyone but real life doesnt always agree with my original timelines


	16. Karkat

Although someone would have to hold you at knife-point before you admitted it, you rather enjoyed your nightly underwater excursions. To be honest, it was something of a rush to jump in and enter the dark world filled with colorful gillbeasts and silver bubbles. There was no one there to complain about your swearing or bitching or general ineptitude in dealing with people. It was like having your own quiet, private place that no one else could enter. Well, besides the ravenous monsters that sometimes tried to eat you. After you started hunting, they certainly backed off, so you were not going to complain about it.

Best of all was the fact that you actually felt like you belonged in this world. The searing light of the moons were dimmed underwater, allowing your eyes to peer around without squinting or tearing up. You were rarely cold in the water, apparently managing to thermoregulate efficiently for once. And even though you had false flippers made of stiff waterproofed fabrics, your movements were sleek and well-controlled (perhaps not as graceful as Kanaya, but you seriously doubt anyone is as graceful as her). The point of the matter was that you felt more competent in this world of currents and fins than you ever did on dry land.

So when on this fine evening you suddenly got the distinct feeling that you were being watched, you tried to brush it off at first. The beasts of the deep had not bothered you since you started carrying your sickles, and you were much too close to the coast for any other seadwellers to be around. At least, that is what you kept telling yourself. But after a few moments, it became obvious that was not the case. A blindingly white-hot blast of energy shot by you, knocking you head over flippers a few times before you could halt your momentum. Blinking away the assorted rainbow of spots dancing before your eyes, you reached for the rope tied around you and gave it a few tugs. If you had to face down a randomass troll, better to get to where Zahhak and his insane muscle mass could give you some back up.

Then something collided heavily with you, and you have your sickles up and out in a flash. The other seatroll is bigger than you, of course, and whoever it is wrestles to make you drop one of your weapons and pins your other arm. However, you would rather eat nails than lose one of the basically brand-new blades Zahhak forged for you, and you manage to get a good kick to something soft that makes the grip on you loosen. That is all you need. You reholster your weapons as you kick free, shooting off towards the surface like a bullet. You do not get very far before something grabs hold of your ankle. You glance down as you attempt to kick him off and realize that there is recognition shining in those violet eyes. And that you also recognize those eyes. Oh fuck no.

Ampora snarls as you foot descends to make contact with his face, quickly burying his fangs into your calf. Bastard was trying to saw through your hamstrings, from the feel of it. Unsheathing one of your sickles again, you swipe at his nose. He withdraws, face twisted in fury, as violet trickles into the water to join your crimson red. Nothing but a scratch, but that is all you need to start swimming again. You realize he is going to catch up to you again, but there is not really much other choice. He saw. Motherfucking Ampora, _Prince of Seatrolls_ , saw your bright red gills. You are so fucked.

Your leg is burning when he catches up to you again. You can feel him displacing the water behind you even though he has not moved to grab you yet. For a wild moment, you wonder if he is trying to outpace you. Then suddenly he grabs your calf and heaves. Your momentum is halted at the same time his increases, and he immediately snatches at your wrist and neck. With one arm pressed around your throat and holding wrist of your armed side, he presses close to you and snarls wordlessly into your ear. A fucking restraining hold. He has you in a restraining hold and he still has a free arm and you are so motherfucking dead right now.

Instead of claws shredding your throat, something is tracing your ribs. You gasp as those somethings suddenly dip up into your gills. You immediately thrash out. That was wrong and unnatural and going the wrong way into your gills and so _wrong_. With an increased pressure on your throat, your vision starts to dim. You go limp and the pressure decreases slightly at the same time Ampora pries your gillslit open as wide as it will go. From the corner of your eye, you can see him frowning down at your gills, studying them. You are not going to give him a chance to decide what to do from here. Using your arm squashed between the two of you, you grab the handle of your sheathed sickle and push forward as hard as you can. The blunt outer curve connects with his stomach harshly and he grunts.

As soon as he gives you that little bit of room, you are tearing yourself from his grasp. You sink your fangs into his arm, and then struggle free before the blood has even welled to the surface. You feel his claws rip through the outer edge of your gillslit as you finally escape his grasp yet again. You swim like you have never swum before. Shit, shit, shit. With this much blood in the water, random creatures were bound to start appearing. Fuck getting back to the boat. You needed to get to dry land. You suddenly change directions, feeling the rush of water as the violetblood narrowly misses ramming into you.

You are surprised by how close the shore seems to be. If you can just stay ahead of him for a few minutes, you can be sprinting up the beach before he knows what you are trying to do. From there all you could do is hope that a couple of Gamzee's guards are patrolling the dunes. The saltwater burns down your chute and over your abused gill with every passing moment, but you do not allow yourself to slow. You hit the surface so quickly you actually go fully airborne and get a great big lungful of air before you realize what an awful idea that was. Hacking and spluttering, your feet hit sand when you right yourself and you somehow manage to start sloshing your way towards solid land.

Searing pain blasts your shoulder and you stumble. Fuck! So close. Falling to your knees heavily, you take this small breather to try and empty your breathing apparatus of water and fill it with air. Damn you almost made it. You can literally fucking see the hive from here. You wonder why the asshole had not fired that stupid blue rifle of his earlier instead of trying to chase you down to apparently tear you limb from limb with his bare hands. You wonder where the Hell those motherfucking guards are. Most of all, you wonder why you are not dead yet.

You glance over your shoulder to see the violetblood heavily panting and wading towards you on unsteady legs. At least you had not made it easy for the fucking bastard. You note he has slung the rifle over one shoulder as he approaches and you attempt to get back to your feet. Apparently your bitten leg had given up on supporting you, however, and you only manage to sort of half-crouch. When he reaches you, he hauls you up by a hand around your throat and pain explodes in all those wounded places and you swear you would _murder_ the prick if given half a chance. He totally ignores your brief moment of blacking out in favor of once again staring at you like you are something he found under a rock.

"Yer.... You're a fucking seadwweller," he spits, releasing your neck to snatch one of your hands. "You don't havve any fins. I wwoulda remembered that. Wwhat the fuck are these?" Even though he pauses, you are pretty sure he does not actually expect an answer. Which is good, because your throat feels like it is already bruising and you do not want to waste your last remaining minutes on this planet by explaining yourself to this douchebag. Said douchebag being the one who has literally torn the glove off your hand to view the lack of webbing between your fingers. You can see the precise moment when he notices the faded scars and what they mean.

"Oh glubbin fuck no!" he hisses, suddenly grabbing your chin and twisting your face to one side. "Fuckin shell! Evven your earfins?" The sponge between your ears takes this moment to gently roll in its case and smash against the inside of your skull, reminding you that you still have a weapon in your hands and another at your hip. Even though you think your death may be swifter if you just let him cull you now, you cannot seem to give enough of a damn. You just want his slimy paws off you. Oh, fuck it all.

"FUCK!" he screeches, pulling away so suddenly that you almost collapse. Apparently he had been helping to support your useless torso. Oh well. Shit. His inability to learn how to swear appropriately would probably amuse you if you were not readying to fight to the death. As it is, the violet now streaming down his chest gave you something to focus on. You draw your second sickle, knowing that you will need the extra guard with your reduced agility. Leg injuries really were the worst. He stares at you as if you have just grown a second head.

"Fuck _you_ ," you snarl, finally having caught your breath. "If you want to cull me you should've just used the stupid laser-cannon, you shitstained pustule of a porpoise."

"Maybe I don't wwanna krill you," he sneers in a rather suggestive way. Your thinkpain (already proving to be seriously damaged) starts to short-circuit. Nope. He did not. You blink and holy shit it looks like he just took a step forward. Your arms start to droop just the tiniest bit and you see his lip curl upwards as he takes another step. You growl and pin your ears back as he takes a third one, almost within your range again. His next step has you trying to back up, which is a wonderful idea when you have a severely injured leg. You grimace and let out a faint hiss and all the sudden he is up in your face.

He tastes like brine and raw fish.

He tries to shove his tongue down your throat. You come to your senses and bite the shit out of his lip. He curses and recoils, but you are already waiting for that. Your fist gets reintroduced to his eye. You hope it bruises like Hell. Even as he is staggering backwards, you can see movement in your peripheral vision. With any luck, it is not some of his soldiers.

"Vantas? Are you... alright?"

You do a double-take. " _Zahhak_? How the flying fuck did you get here so fast?" Sure enough, there stands the indigoblood in all his massive, sweaty glory. Nepeta is already booking it towards you.

"Karkitty! Are you okay?" she fusses over you for a moment, checking your wounds. "You look like Hell."

"I would remain there, Ampora," her moirail is saying. You quickly turn your attention back to the seatroll to see him picking himself off of the ground. (You are really proud that you apparently managed to deck him.) He glares daggers at you as he brushes sand off of his fancy pants. This is the point where you realize both of you are stripped down to your trousers, and the shipping cat and her dirty-minded hulk of a moirail probably just saw the Prince of the Waves macking on you. Mother. Fucking. Perfect.

"Just get me the fuck home," you grumble, already done with this night. With one last warning glare to the violetblood, Zahhak simply walks over and scoops you up. While not exactly what you were going for, you will accept this momentary embarrassment in light of the fact you probably would pass out if you tried to make it back to the hive on your own.

"I'll be seein you around, Karkat," Ampora calls out ominously, and you are so glad that the bulky frame of the highblood blocked his view of your responding flinch.

* * * * *

To say that Kanaya was pissed beyond all reason would not, in fact, be much of an exaggeration. The instant you arrived looking like you had lost a fight with a shark, she had gotten up in Zahhak's face and actually managed to make the highblood back away with his empty hands held up in defense. You distracted her by asking for some help stitching up your leg and Nepeta gets the hint enough that she shepherded her moirail out the door. Now you were attempting to convince her that no, trying to find Ampora so she could challenge him to a duel would not be conductive towards your goal of both of you surviving at least a couple more perigrees.

"Karkat!" she barks suddenly, "Not only did he not challenge you to a proper caliginous duel, Ampora is a quadranted man. He _already has a kismesis_. I do not care what Zahhak and Nepeta say they saw or your own suspicions. This kind of behavior is entirely unacceptable. Especially coming from a highblood that should know better!"

You flinch back a bit, "Yeah, Kan. I know all that. But he's still a fucking Prince, not to mention the _moirail of the Heiress_. Culling him is just going to end up with a lot of good trolls dead, including us."

"You do not seem to realize what kind of troll Ampora is," she hisses. And for you that is the last straw. Your mind starts flooding with memories. Memories of Ampora storming your hive, a handful of his elite soldiers with him and the most smug grin you have ever seen. Ampora's disgusted and then intrigued face upon seeing your blood for the first time, when you had stupidly resisted to try to get between him and Sollux. The first day after your capture when Ampora handed you over to those seatroll sailors and warriors (all of them fucking huge-ass adults compared to you) and told them not to cause you any 'major damage.' And that road leads down the path of remembering all the different times you have been abused, used, discarded... You do not even realize you are having a breakdown until the sound of distressed purring fills your ears and causes your horns to tingle with vibrations.

"Karkat? Darling? I'm so, so sorry. I was not thinking clearly," the apologies fly out of her mouth even through the purring. "I know- I know you know. You know better than some. But now is the time to realize that you are no longer in that situation. You are here with me. You are safe. Shoosh now, darling."

You suck in a deep breath and realize that you have been hiccuping. And crying. The jadeblood has wrapped you in her arms as if she were a cloak two-sizes too small. You are quite frankly amazed you can still breathe at all. Slowly the memories recede again, giving way to the overly-bright, solid _realness_ of your surroundings. You hug her back, as hard as you can, and reassure yourself of how really real she is. Gog you are so tired. Your face is buried in breasts and you are probably leaving pinkish-red stains on her clothes and oh fucking Hell you really cannot breathe like this. Oh wait. Yes you can. Looks like having gills has finally had a practical use for once in your life.

You let her fuss over you for the rest of the night, even going so far as to allow her to cajole you into sleeping with her when the sun began to rise over the horizon. Then a horrible thought strikes you. With Ampora out there, the ocean was no longer your safe haven. You would not be able to go swimming or hunting or even to the beach until he finally decided to move out. You can feel the hatred roiling in your stomach, threatening to make you grind your fangs and growl. Trust the slimy bastard to ruin a good thing. You really hope that Gamzee comes back soon; maybe he could talk the seatroll into leaving the area.

* * * * *

"You women are fucking insane and going to get us all culled!" you limp after the enraged tealblood to try and catch up to her, swatting away your moirail's hands as she attempts to once again get you to go sit down.

"Karkles! I don't care if he were the Heiress's _matesprit_ , that is simply a disgusting, foul, unethical, irredeemable of him!" Terezi is stomping through the hive like she was on a mission to kick major ass. "Just because our beloved highblood is not here does not mean he can come to _our_ land and start shit. Especially considering he has got to be playing some sort of angle here. He was going to cull you before. Remember that?"

"Yes, and he would have totally been in the right to do that," you snap. As she whirls around in shock, you continue, "I think you assholes are forgetting that I am indeed an abomination in the eyes of the empire. If he culled me he would get a slap on the back and a 'Well done!' from the Empress herself. So for the love of Gog, please listen to me when I say just leave the motherfucker alone. If I stay here, he will eventually get bored and leave. Or Gamzee will come back and kick him off the beach. Either way, you two need to calm the fuck down."

The Legislacerator's lips are pursed like she just ate something extremely sour, "I don't like this."

"Neither do I, but it beats the Armada showing up and blasting us to Hell," you point out. She frowns as she considers this.

"Karkat, you have opened up your leg wound again," Kanaya touches your shoulder gently. "Will you please come sit down so I can change your bandages?" She gives you the most pleading of looks she can manage. Your stomach is full of warm fuzzy things and the rest of your organs are melting. Eventually you were going to have to build a tolerance to this pale-eyes shit or she would be able to talk you into anything.

"If Terezi gives me her word that she will not do anything until at least Gamzee is back," you compromise.

"Ugh, fine!" she throws her hands into the air in exasperation. "I will wait for my moirail to return. However, I think you are sorely mistaken if you think he will react to the news any less aggressively than us."

"I'm banking on the sharkfucker to have the attention span of a gnat," you admit as you allow the jadeblood to lead you to a nearby chair. "Besides, his kismesis is just up the road from here. Hopefully either he will remember that or she will decide to come pay him a visit."

* * * * *

A week after the incident with the violetblood prince you are starting to regret your decision to not let the greenbloods kill him. According to the spies, he has not left the area and regularly patrols the shallow waters near the hive. Neither has his kismesis made any move to leave her inland castle. Most nights he is camped out on the beach as if waiting for someone, the guards inform you. Your leg is healed enough for you to walk without pain, but in truth you are itching to get back in the water.

You never realized before how much you needed the water until you started swimming in it every night. In its absence, your gills felt tight and itchy, slowly dulling in color until they were almost pinkish rather than their usual crimson red. Freshwater in an ablution trap just was not the same; it left you feeling waterlogged and more jittery than before. Also, your stockpile of seafood had been meager to begin with, and Zahhak would not allow Nepeta to go fishing with Ampora on the loose. Although roasted oinkbeast and cluckbeast and grubloaf and all the landdweller food tasted wonderful, it did not nourish you. After meals you felt strangely bloated and yet you ate less than before. You would give your left arm for a shark right now.

Worse still was the cough that somehow had lodged itself in your chest, causing a low-grade fever and headache. Every time you hacked on nothing but air, your gills would twitch and burn. Drinking copious amounts of water helped, but it seemed like nothing would rid you of the annoyance. No matter how bundled up you were, you always felt cold. Sometimes you would get up in the middle of the day and try to sleepwalk out to the beach. Even encased in the stone building, you could feel the push and pull of the ocean in your veins.

Everyone in the hive noted your growing restlessness. The guards were under orders to intercept you if you attempted to leave the hive. For your own protection, you were assured. After all, there was no telling what the violetblood would do if he caught you out in the open again. Kanaya hovered over you constantly, attempting to distract you from your discomfort. Terezi snidely remarked how you could be out swimming if you had simply agreed to let her cull the prince. Cerulean made himself scarce after a rather harmless prank sent you into a screaming fit of obscenities and coughing for three minutes. Sollux was out doing Gog knows what. Jade was with Gamzee, wherever they were.

So when the door to the parlor where you and the three greenbloods are having tea bursts open, you expect to see Lord Zahhak awkwardly asking if he could join you. Instead, you see the quizzical face of Prince Ampora. Even as the girls whirl into motion, you can feel your brain shutting down. Ampora. Prince of Sea-foam. Destroyer of Hope. Moirail to the Heiress herself. In Terezi's tea room. How the Hell had he even managed to get inside the hive?

"Easy there, Rez," he is holding his webbed hands up, showing empty palms. "I'm not armed, alright?"

"What do _you_ want?" Nepeta, of all people, is snarling as she positions herself between you and the violetblood. Damn that whole ordeal on the beach must have looked really bad if the number one shipper kitty was intent on defending you.

He raises an eyebrow, "I came to see if you all had fuckin krilled Kar yet." He has to raise his voice to talk over their cries of outrage, "I mean you ain't lettin him in the wwater. He could go into shock, you knoww. How long has he been swwimmin every night?"

They all exchange glances. Wait, did that mean there was actually some truth to his words? As far as you knew, you were doing fine. Somewhat annoyed with the persistent cough, of course, but fine anyway. You have no idea what is going on.

"Right, you're all landdwwellers," he sneers. "Lemme spell it out for you. Seatrolls are not built for livvin on land for extended periods of time. If you want to vvisit your buddies inland, you havve to sort of acclimate yourself to being out of the ocean. Meaning you cut down your time in the wwater reel slow-like. A little bit every day, like what I'vve been doing. Not cut out and head for the glubbin hills immediately. You get wwhat I'm sayin?"

"Believe me, we have his best interests in mind," Kanaya snaps. "However, we considered it more prudent to prevent him from the possibility of another attack."

He blinks twice, "Wwait. I'm not gonna krill him, if that's what you're all up in arms about." Turning to where he can peer at you over Nepeta, he continues, "I thought I made that clear already." There is that dreaded tickling sensation in the back of your throat, and one of your ears twitches in annoyance.

Your moirail is practically vibrating with anger, "The only thing you have made clear is that you are an uncouth individual willing to take advantage of others. Blackrom or not, I doubt Serket would allow such infidelity to-" You really do not mean to interrupt, but finally you cannot hold the coughing back any longer. As you attempt to hack up a breathing sac, someone roughly thumps your back a few times. You come out of it gasping for air that seems a bit too thin to be of any use and cheeks probably burning red.

"You'vve got drylung," the violetblood states as if he is commenting on the weather. "You need to get back in the wwater. And soon." You scowl at him over the proffered tankard of water. Sweet water, how you love it so. You guzzle it greedily.

"Karkles is not going anywhere near the water as long as your adulterating ass is in the area," Terezi announces authoritatively. "If you weren't quadranted to Peixes I would cull you right now."

"Wwell, besides the fact I think you are all glubbin insane if you think I'm still wwith Serket," he begins, "you don't reely have much of a choice here. He needs to get in the ocean. That wway he can, you knoww, not possibly die from suffocation. And stop givving him freshwwater. You're going to dry him out faster. It'll pull all his salts out." Before anyone can react, he is slipping around Nepeta's slight frame and reaching for your tankard. You lean backwards and snarl at him wordlessly, keeping your precious liquid out of reach.

A cane swishes through the air as it smacks his outstretched, webbed hand, "It's the only thing that has been helping the cough. Watch the mitts, Ampora."

Annoyed, he rubs his hand as he replies, "Yeah, for the first feww minutes. Then it'll start up evven wworse. I think wwe can come to a compromise. Wwhat if I stay here and he goes out there for a breather?" They all pause to consider his proposal, and you find yourself getting more annoyed he is not directing anything he says towards you directly. You were still in the room, and it was not like he could not see that.

"Nepeta, take Karkat and fetch your moirail," nods Terezi, coming to a decision. "You three take _the Teakettle_ out and we will make sure our _guest_ here does not slip out for a quick swim."

* * * * *

When Nepeta finally convinces you to leave the water, you stretch gloriously and make contented sounds in the back of your throat. Despite the steady burn in your leg, you feel refreshed. The cough had ceased the instant you started breathing water, and even out of the water it was not returning. It looked like the violetblood might actually be trying to be helpful for once in his miserable life. Of course, he might also have ulterior motives. Like getting to see you enter the hive stripped down to your trousers and soaking wet again.

When he whistles at you, Cerulean bursts into inappropriate giggles and Terezi smacks both of them. Your face slightly flushing, you give him a middle finger. Kanaya hands you a fluffy towel to dry off and herds you away to 'change into something more appropriate for guests.' Meaning she was feeling the second-hand embarrassment of you running around the hive half-naked when Ampora was there to stir up trouble. You feel oddly self-conscious about your body again. You thought you had gotten over that when you actually had started putting on a little muscle from your swimming routine.

"Wwell, wwell. Don't you clean up nicely," he waggles his eyebrows at you. Curse your moirail for never allowing you to wear something like a regular gray tunic and black pants. No, you had to be wearing stuff with embroidery and multiple colors and pleats and fancy shit you probably do not even have words for.

"What the fuck is he still doing here?" you turn to the tealblood.

"I have no idea," she pouts, "but apparently some nubby-horned asshole said culling him would be a bad idea. So I guess we are stuck with him for now."

"I hate you so much right now," you hiss. "Platonically. Forever. Can I stab you with a fork?"

"As swweet as it is you don't wwant them to krill me, I dunno if I can put up wwith this kind of cheating, Kar," grins Ampora with those shark-teeth. "Professin your undyin hate to someone else right in front of me and all." You are not going to let him know how badly his statements are getting you riled up. You will not develop a black crush on fucking Ampora and his sleazy ways and that eyebrow thing he likes to do that just looks like his face is having a seizure.

"Like you have any room to talk!" counters Terezi.

Now it is the seadweller's turn to pout, "I already told you VVris and I are through. She broke it off after nubby here and his twwo lowwbloods wwrecked my ships. Apparently I wwasn't interestin anymore. Also, I thought I heard she wwas dead."

"Not culled, just disarmed in a duel," you clarify without much forethought. Then you literally freeze into place. "Oh my Gog. I didn't."

"You did," cackles the tealblood. As you slam your head down onto your waiting fists, she continues, "That was possibly the worst pun I have ever heard in my entire life. I might actually have to take you into custody for that one."

"Wwhat?" the violetblood frowns. "I'm missin out on somethin here."

"He literally cut off her arm during the duel," she explains. "As she was attempting to retrieve her weapon after cheating multiple times. So she was disarmed and then _disarmed_." Oh shit. Now she was doing the eyebrow thing. Maybe it was contagious. Like some bizarre facial tic leprosy.

He gapes, "Say wwhat noww? That little shrimp beat VVris?" You do not like the way he his appraising you one bit. Your ears pin back and you glare at him defiantly, a growl building in your windchute.

"Gentlemen," interrupts a certain blueblood with no little amount of glee. "Hate to intrude on your flirting, but I have an important announcement for Legislacerator Pyrope."

"Spit it out before they start making out, Cerulean!" snaps Terezi, and you can feel your face burning. Quite suddenly, the seatroll has closed the distance between the two of you and leans into your personal space. You lean backward with a glare that is venomous enough that he should be dropping dead on the spot.

"That actually sounds like a good idea to me," he smoulders at you. Your life is completely in shambles, but you really, really, _really_ want to punch that ridiculous look right off his smug face. Instead you resolutely turn and ignore him, gesturing for Cerulean to actually say something. Hopefully it will give you something to concentrate on besides the lukewarm body beside you.

"The Grand Highblood's caravan has been spotted," the guard grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look whos back!! sorry about the extended hiatus everyone but things on the other side of the screen got pretty crazy for awhile. but i am back now and ready to kick this story into gear. again- updates will happen probably bi-monthly if i can keep up with my prehiatus schedule. if worse comes to worse i will update once a month even though i dont wanna do that. but i dont want to cut down on the chapter lengths or quality so thats just the way its gonna be.


	17. Gamzee

Trudging down the beach at the front of the caravan, you regret for a moment that you do not have a lusus like some of the others. Behind you most of the younger ones are riding theirs as mounts to keep up with your roaming strides in the sands. At least you have an advantage on them there- you know how to move on the shifting ground so that your movements are smooth and leave nearly no trace of your passage. They had floundered around until you gave up and told everyone who was able to either ride their lusus or hop in one of the wagons.

In the distance you can finally see your hive appearing, as well as some figures rushing towards your group. One of those trolls looks very tiny compared to the others, and you have no doubt in your mind as to who it is leading the welcome party. In an instant, you flashstep ahead of the others, impatient to be reunited with your matesprit. You catch him mid bound and literally sweep him up into your arms. And when he finally breaks away you are not nearly done with macking on him.

"You asshole!" he snarls right into your face. You blink in shock as he continues, "What the Hell was that- leaving without saying anything to me? Right after the showdown with Serket as well! You have any idea how worried I've been that I somehow fucked up, you motherfucker?"

"Hey there lil motherfucker," you sheepishly grin at him. "I have been all up and gathering recruits for your holy war. Well, that and getting an old friend of ours back down here. She went and found something motherfucking miraculous. You should come meet them."

"Meet who, Gamz?" your moirail is suddenly standing next to the two of you. As she cackles, Karkat wriggles out of your grasp to apparently make his escape to your lee side.

"Violet has come back," you inform the tealblood, "and she has a new friend with her. Her moirail, as a matter of fact."

"Oh?" Terezi licks her shark-like teeth. "The unflappable Violet finally went and bagged a quadrantmate? And a moirail at that! He must be quite the feral if she feels like he need a conciliator."

"Not quite, my Teresis," you chuckle. Then you happen to glance over the rest of the group and see a very unwelcome face. "Ampora? What are you doing on my motherfucking beaches _again_? Do you have a death wish, motherfucker?"

"He's trying to bag himself a new black partner," helpfully explains Terezi as the violetblood splutters indignantly. "Isn't he, Karkles?"

"I don't want to fucking talk about it," snarls the smaller seadweller and you frown. You haven't heard that kind of venom come out of your matesprit for some time. Although technically there is nothing you can do if he is starting a blackrom with the slimy prince, you do not have to like it. If there is even a hint of non-consensual _anything_ going on, you will cull Ampora so fast that his precious heiress will not be able to do a damn thing.

"Let's go," you decide to rescue your matesprit from having to say anything else (and possibly everyone else from having their auricle canals burst from his yelling). "I got to introduce you two to Violet's moirail. Karkat, you especially will find this motherfucker interesting." Karkat and Terezi fall into step behind you, but Kanaya hangs back to menace the violetblood. You cannot say that you envy his situation.

You try to look at the sight before you with new eyes like they are doing now. You see several wagons seemingly full of strange trolls of all different hemocastes and occupations. Most of them are fairly young, but there are a liberal amount of adults sprinkled into the mix. Even more awe-inspiring are the two dozen lusii carrying their charges, ranging from a lowblood's Ramdad, barely able to carry his growing teenager, to a blueblood's massive hoofbeast lusus pulling one of the wagons with an ease that makes you, quite frankly, nervous. However, you are making your way directly to Violet's very own miniature tentacle monster (that was still by far the largest lusus on the beach).

Oglomom appears to be calm and keeping her suction cups to herself, so you stride forward with a confident gait. Perched atop the lusus are two trolls. One is obviously an elegant seadweller, a young adult with piercing violet eyes and a critical gaze that was no doubt already judging your little matesprit. The other was a teenager with dark gray skin and darker shaded glasses; his smaller build coupled with the stout features label him as a lowblood. They make quite a striking pair, somehow similar besides the obvious differences. Violet murmurs in her moirail's ear before sliding down elegantly to greet you.

"Violet!" exclaims Terezi. "You smell just as ravishing as always!"

"It is good to be reunited with you as well, Terezi," she replies. "Gamzee here has kept me up to date with what has happened since I left, but I would greatly appreciate hearing more from you at a later time. We must especially discuss some legal technicalities about this endeavor."

You sort of nudge Karkat out from behind you, "This lil motherfucker is him." Besides shooting you a rather suspicious glare, the teenager puts up with your antics.

"Goodnight, Mister Vantas," the violetblood dips her head and does a small curtsey. "It is an honor to meet you. You may call me Violet; everyone else does."

"Erm, it's nice to meet you as well?" he gives an awkward sort of bow, obviously feeling pressured to keep up with the overly formal greeting. "Oh, uh, this is my moirail." He gestures to the jadeblood (whoa when did she even get here) and then rolls his eyes when she flawlessly executes the most graceful curtsey you have ever seen.

"Goodnight, Violet," she smiles coyly. "My name is Kanaya Maryam." Wait. Is she... flirting with Violet? You honestly cannot say that you have ever seen a troll brave (or stupid) enough to try.

"I have heard about you as well," Violet allows just the smallest hint of a smirk to appear. "Ah, but we can talk later. First I must introduce my own moirail." She gestures for him to join your small group, and the boy atop the lusus frowns down at her before crossing his arms.

"Are you _sure_ they're safe?" he calls down from his seat. "I really don't feel up to getting attacked tonight. Especially when we are outnumbered and surrounded."

"I have already informed you that they are the Grand Highblood's quadrant and hivemates," she sighs. "They will not raise a hand towards you. Especially not since I am also a member of the hive, albeit one that has been away for quite some time."

"Fine," he shrugs, finally dismounting Oglomom to stand beside her. At this point the size difference is noticeable but not as extreme as it could have been; the lowblood comes up to the seadweller's shoulder. You sense that Cerulean has already found Jade and the two of them have joined your group as well. You know they must be impatiently waiting for you to leave so Cerulean can say hello to Violet. It has been almost two sweeps since the three have been together.

"Everyone, I would like to introduce you to my moirail," Violet scans the group with a critical eye before apparently reaching some sort of decision. "His name is Crimson."

* * * * *

"Wait... you..." Karkat appears to be having some trouble verbalizing his thought process. "There's no way. There's absolutely no fucking way. Prove it!"

"Crimson, it is quite alright," reassures Violet. "Can you not see the color of his eyes?"

"Right, the shades," the teenager reaches up and pulls them off, only to reveal squinting slits. "Give me a sec. The light is fucking raping my eyeballs at the moment. It's like the moons are basically just Alternian suns waiting for me to be defenseless for two seconds so they can blind me forever with their impatient bulges." After a few moments, he widens them to reveal the same shade of blasphemous red that you have come to adore.

"Jegus fucking Christ," exhales your matesprit. "Oh my Gog. There's another- oh my Gog! A second descendent! Are you a seadweller, too?"

"What are you, retarded? Does it look like I have any fins strapped on to my- wait, what do you mean 'too?' You're not... are you?"

"Yeah, I am. I can't believe you aren't- I mean. What? I had them. Fucking gills and all. Fins and flippers and shit. How-"

"Whoa- hold up. Gills? _You_ 've got fucking gills? That's it. Show and tell, dude. I won't believe it otherwise."

"Wow, asshole. Way to be demanding there. I'm not just going to stri-wait. Wait a fucking second. WHY THE FUCK DON'T YOU HAVE NUBBY HORNS?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I guess that's not something to do with our fucked-up blood. Although I have to say, I seriously thought the head clown was joking when he told us about yours. I mean, who ever heard of a grown troll with grub-rounded horns before? It's like the saddest thing I have ever seen, and that is really saying something."

"I'm going to punch you. Right in the fucking face."

"Whoa, whoa," you interject. "No punching. Motherfucker just got here. At least let us get to the hive before you two start forming a blackrom." Seeing them both blush the same hue is almost discombobulating, knowing that one is a seadweller and the other a lowblood.

"Wait a second, that's totally not what-"

"Come on, man. What do I look like-"

"I agree with Lord Makara," interrupts Violet. "That was starting to sound suspiciously like flirting."

"You think everything sounds like flirting," mumbles her moirail.

"Need I remind you of your first encounter with Lord Makara?" she raises one perfect eyebrow.

"Fuck no," he glares at her. "You are a demented woman. And again, nothing happened." Your moirail and matesprit's eyebrows rise drastically as they give you significant looks.

"If it is because I interrupted, you have my deepest apologies," she smirks.

You clear your throat, "Yeah, this is nice and all, but I think we should let Cerulean and Jade have some alone time with the third member of their trio. So we best get up and gone."

"Uh-huh," your little flushcrush crosses his arms. "Do I even _want_ to know?" You glance at Crimson at the same time he glances at you.

"Not at all, motherfucker." "Nope." You both flashstep out of the situation. In different directions, of course.

* * * * *

"Is that a pupa?" Karkat suddenly tugs on your sleeve to get your attention. You turn to look at the troll he is pointing out, already knowing your response.

"An orphaned one we picked up," you shrug. "It seemed cruel to leave him in the empty hive. Been havin trouble keeping the bigger motherfuckers away from him, though." As if on cue, one of the mercenaries approaches the younger troll. Although you cannot hear what he is saying, he leans over the smaller figure in an intimidating way. Frowning, you turn back to tell your little matesprit that you are going to have to go intervene, only to find that he is already gone. He is striding towards the pair with a stiff set to his spine and clenched hands; you just know that something interesting is about to happen.

"Hey, you!" he barks, suddenly authoritative. "What the everloving fuck do you think you are doing, you rotten stump of a bulge? Please tell me that you are not actually bullying a motherfucking _pupa_. That had better not be what is going on here. Because if it is, I am going to take that spear and ram it so far up your wastechute that you will be tasting steel for the rest of your miserable excuse of a life."

"Uh..." is the intelligent reply.

"Bzzt! Wrong answer!" the seatroll seems to puff up, broadening his shoulders and nearly standing on his toes. "Do you even know why the Hell you are here? Well let me inform you, since you seem to be stuttering like a fool. This is a motherfucking army for hemoequality. This means that our ultimate goal is to have a world where assholes like you are not allowed to roam free and accost other trolls for any qualities that you deem undesirable besides their personality. Is that clear?" He pauses for a beat, and receiving no response repeats, "I SAID IS THAT CLEAR, MOTHERFUCKER?"

To your amazement, the larger blueblood is raising his hands defensively and stammering out an affirmative. This has got to be the first time that an unarmed troll almost half the size of its opponent has yelled down an enemy. You do not know whether to applaud your matesprit's skills or to fire the mercenary. After apologizing profusely, the blueblood makes a hasty retreat towards a group of his snickering peers. Karkat turns towards the pupa.

"Sorry about that, kid," he says, all calm and at normal volumes again. "Some of these bastards are going to take a little while to come around to our way of doing things. You okay?" The little one nods. "Good. If anyone gives you any trouble, you come find me, the Grand Highblood, or one of the two jadeblood women. We'll set them straight." The pupa nods again. With a firm nod (like a general dismissing one of his soldiers, you think), he turns back towards you. As he heads your way, the smaller troll reaches out and grabs a fistful of his shirt hem. Amusingly the seadweller does not seem to notice the shuffling footsteps directly behind him.

"You've got a tagalong," you note.

"Hmm?" he turns. "Oh. Uh. Hi?" The pupa sticks a thumb in his mouth. "Um...do you want something?" A shake of the head. "Okay then. So... you're just going to hang out with me now?" Nodnodnod. "Uh...Gamz?"

"Don't look at me, motherfucker," you shrug. "I ain't got the first know how about dealin pupas."

"Well neither do I!" snaps Karkat. "Um, I guess you can just follow me around for a little while. I don't have much planned right now. That slimy Ampora saw to that. By the way, can you tell that flippered asshole to set sail and not come back for at least a hundred sweeps? I would really like for one of us not to kill him and cause the fucking Armada to come swooping down on our heads like deathbirds from above."

"So you and he aren't-" you glance down at the pupa. "Uh..."

"Yeah, I would suggest not finishing that sentence if you know what's good for you," your matesprit snarls. "That nookwhiffer appeared out of the blue, literally out of the deep blue sea, and is now tormenting us with his presence. Apparently Serket dumped his whiny ass some time ago and now he has his sights set on me. Gog only knows why."

You hum thoughtfully for a moment, "Well, what do you think of the army, motherfucker?"

"Nice save," he snorts. Then his red eyes sweep over the boisterous clots of trolls ranging from awkward teenagers to battle-hardened adults, "I don't like the looks of your mercenaries. Don't get me wrong, I know we are going to need the extra muscle when we actually start making our move. And the fact they are experienced in battle is a nice fucking bonus. I just think those meatheads are going to cause us a lot of grief in the long run. They aren't exactly holy war material."

"Ah, but that's why we have you to all up and change their minds about that," you grin lazily. "Or we can always threaten them with Serket. She has something of a reputation."

He chuckles darkly, "Give me a few perigrees. I'll make the stories of Serket seem like pleasant daydreams." Somehow you find that very believable.

* * * * *

"Bwaggs," the little brownblood informs Karkat.

"Bwaggs? Braggs? Right, Braggs," the seadweller continues on with his sentence as if a miracle had not happened right in front of his eyes. "Braggs here is just the beginning. I started thinking about it. I don't think that we can with good conscience allow pupas to be slaughtered by the drones just because their lusus kicked the bucket or they are disabled in some way. Is it really their fault if they are too young or small to fucking help defend their hive? ...Why are you assholes all staring like that?"

"That little motherfucker has not said a single word since we picked him up," you inform your matesprit. "That was almost a perigree ago. I all up and thought he was a mute."

He frowns, "Maybe he just didn't have anything to say to giant, thinkpanless lugs like you. Anyway, the fact of the matter is that some of the 'recruits' we are going to amass are not exactly troop material. The Signless is kind of a symbol of peace and all that shit. So instead of having to cajole them onto the battlefield, we can reroute their efforts towards the preservation of pupas and teenagers who have made it on the culling list. In long-term stability issues, these kids will grow up, hopefully, thinking that the hemocaste system is a bunch of hoofbeastshit and join the cause. So really it is a win-win. Keep assholes who have no business fighting away from the battles and ensure long-term recruits."

"You know," Terezi interrupts his rant, "you don't have to justify your reasoning to us. We pretty much agree wholeheartedly that the whole culling thing is bad, especially when it comes to pupas. If we could gain access to the grub caverns that would be awesome as well, but that is a highly guarded area filled to the brim with drones."

"Right now such an endeavor would prove to be unfeasible," muses Violet.

"Agreed," nods Karkat. "Although I would like to keep it on the table for the future. Say, if we happen to get some more jadebloods we could send in as undercover agents. Shut up, Cerulean. I'm not suggesting Jade set down her rifle and go crawling around in fucking caves to rescue grubs. We need her in the field. I'm just saying that it is something we should consider if we find ourselves in a more favorable position later on."

"I would like to second that motion," Kanaya primly folds her hands, "and not simply because of my blood color. These grubs are the future of our race. It would be much better to raise them in an environment that promotes original thinking than at the hands of the drone rhetoric of hemocaste superiority and duty to a warmongering Empress."

"Well put, Maryam," the violetblood inclines her head. "I will third that motion."

"Then we shall keep this on the table of issues for future plans," Terezi bangs her gavel (a ridiculously rainbow warhammer donated by Cerulean for the night).

"Um, I think you guys are forgetting the most important issue," the blueblood owner of that gavel frowns. "We do not currently have any spies in the main forces of the Empire, nor the drones. Without any kind of intel from the inside, it is going to be difficult to predict what responses we are going to face."

"Actually," you draw the word out a bit, "we sort of have an in with the drones. An old hatchmate of mine was recruited a few sweeps back. It's not much of a motherfuckin lead, but he has been courteous enough to give warning whenever his squad is gonna make a reproductive sweep through the area. Gives us time to either get a quadrantmate or get out of town, you know?"

"Oh so that's how you always know," Jade tilts her head. "I always assumed it had something to do with the fearmongering thing. You know, the chucklevoodoos." She ridiculously waggles her fingers for effect.

You snort in amusement as Crimson continues, "Sounds to me like he is a reliable sort of guy. We could definitely use a heads up on what the drones are up to. I, for one, do not plan on running into any of them anytime soon."

Kanaya chips in, "I suggest treading lightly, however. There is a fine line between aiding an old friend and treason. Most trolls will not accept the risk that comes with the latter."

"Kawkat, I hungwy," the little pupa headbutts Karkat's chin.

"Again? Fucking Hell," he rubs his eyes. "How do lusii put up with this? Okay, guys, it looks like we have a lot of ideas and not a lot of ways to implement them. I suggest we start with local operations. Keep an eye on the younger trolls. Intervene if it looks like things are going to get out of hand. Provide sanctuary from the drones, except in cases where the troll in question might be an actual threat to the rest of us. Someone is bound to notice that we are accumulating a lot of trolls here, so if Zahhak and Serket are okay with it, we should probably have the troops disperse over their lands as well. It is less suspicious if it just looks like more land nobels gearing up for their normal spats.

"Remember, at this phase our primary goal is not to have the entire Armada sent out to decimate this coastline. We need to be inconspicuous. Once her suspicions are raised, the Empress will be quick to smash our little rebellion to pieces. She will have not forgotten the Summoner's rebellion."

At the grim reminder of the failed lowblood revolution, you all fall silent. Despite the Empire's attempts to keep that part of history buried, it is a well known tale among all hemocastes. Passed down through generations by word of mouth, the trolls involved glancing fearfully over their shoulders. Just like the story of the Signless. You had been fortunate enough to learn of these things from someone who had been there themselves. You had been even more fortunate to have formed your own opinions over the events once the old bastard had died and you had inherited his title and lands.

"This time, the Makaras are on the right side," you state. "Hell, motherfucking all of the land nobility is on the right side. Darkleer's spawn as well as Serket. We ain't ever been a united front before."

"A war that spans the entire hemospectrum," your matesprit smiles softly, as if he knew all along this was going to happen. "Come on, Braggs. I think we can go get some cakes from the kitchen. You like sweets, right?"

"Sweets!" happily agrees the young lowblood.

* * * * *

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" sneers the blueblood. You glance around, making sure that the two of you are well and truly alone, before you turn back to examine her. Serket is definitely looking worse for the wear. Her missing limb is almost unnoticeable with her billowing coat, but you doubt that the blue smudges under her eyes have anything to do with that. And you could have sworn that she was not wearing an eye-patch the last time you saw her.

She notes your lingering gaze, "A farewell gift from my former kismesis. Apparently he did not take getting dumped as well as one would hope from a supposedly mature seatroll. I gave him just as good."

"I hadn't noticed that," you shrug.

"You probably wouldn't unless you were quadranted with him," she leers. Right. _There_ is the psycho bitch you know.

"Look, this is pleasant and all, but I did not come here to gossip about your quadrants," you snarl. "I came to give you a warning."

"Oh, I do love those," her voice rings with mock amusement. "Shall this be the standard 'you touch what I love and I will kill you' speech? Or the 'I don't trust you and never will' talk?"

"This is the 'shut the fuck up and let a motherfucker finish' one," you growl lowly.

She sits up straight on her throne, suddenly looking interested, "Alright, I'm listening."

"If you want any of us to ever trust you, you are going to have to prove yourself," you explain. "And I'm not talking about doing favors or putting thoughts into our enemies' heads, although that is nice. I have something more important for you to do. The catch is that if you motherfucking mess this up, I will personally cull you in the slowest, most painful way possible. And trust me, I have just as much experience in that field as you."

"What kind of important job do you have?" the gleam in her eyes is just short of manic.

"I all up and know how you love challenges, so I will spell this out for you straight," you continue. "We are at a huge motherfucking disadvantage. There is no way we can plant spies into the Empire forces. The Empress's personal guards are too loyal and the drones are not prone to thinking at all. We need a more subtle approach."

"Ahhh," she sighs in contentment. "You need an informant on the _inside_. So you just want basic plans? Troop movements and things like that, right?"

"For now, that will motherfucking do," you nod. "If you prove yourself useful and accurate, we will talk again about moving you on to different projects. For now, this should keep you busy. You will need a couple different motherfuckers in different branches to get a comprehensive idea. Especially since you should not linger with one mind for too long."

"I know how to use my own powers!" snaps the blueblood.

"If you knew your limits, we would not be in this position," you retort. "Just... try to do the right thing, for once. Don't do this to gain our trust or motherfucking be a better person. Do it because it is a good cause. A world where motherfuckers like you and me don't kill off the best and brightest trolls because of something as petty as blood color."

She gulps and slowly nods. "Yeah," she says, "I can do that. What did that kid say? A world for people like Tavros. That... that is really something I can do. Give me a couple of weeks to start sorting through possible informants. Remote mindcontrol takes a while. Also, get those fucking mercenaries off my property before I start setting them on each other."

"Take that up with our seatroll," you grin sadistically. "It was his idea to give you the rowdiest of the bunch. He thought your reputation might make them more amenable to orders."

"Did he now?" her eyes narrow into slits. "Fine. I will rope every single one of those delinquents into line. _Without_ using any of my mindcontrol. Just good old Serket charm."

"You tell 'em, Marquise," you laugh, striding back out of her darkened hall. "You tell those motherfuckers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays everyone!! this is my gift to you faithful readers and newcomers and curious interlopers who decided to check back in and see if i was still alive.
> 
> first of all i would like to apologize for the delay. the last six months have been hard on me both emotionally and mentally and my writing just would not flow. since i refuse to lower the quality of this fic i was forced to take a temporary hiatus. i am pleased to say that this holiday season i shall ((weather permittin)) be able to see my long-distance moirail and get some of these issues.... soothed if not sorted out. i hope to return to semi-regular updates soon.
> 
> as for the chapter. yes. that is totally the warhammer of zillyhoo that terezi was usin as a gavel. it was just too good to pass up. also. wow. took a long fuckin time to get to the actual plot. well. what i consider the actual plot anyway. i guess this would be about the halfway point for the fic now with what i have planned ((more or less)). hope you guys are in it for the long haul heh.


	18. Karkat

"Wwhat exactly are you plannin here, Gam?" the violetblood narrows his eyes suspiciously as Cerulean's recovery team returns with another orphaned pupa. Jade quickly steps in front of the little oliveblood boy and snarls. You wave them off, signaling for them to move on out of the Great Hall and retreat farther into the hive...and away from the seadweller.

"What do you mean, Ampora?" yawns the highblood. You give him props for not even so much as glancing in the seatroll's general direction. You really are glad that he is back, because it has been a lot easier to ignore the stupid Prince of the Waves lately. Of course, you think that it is just starting to make him more irritable than before. Hopefully he would deal with his frustration by leaving the hive. And the local area. And the land completely.

"You knoww exactly wwhat I mean!" he snaps. "Since wwhen do the Subjuggulators recruit grubs too young to lift a wweapon? And evven if you havve some questionable pastimes, you havven't krilled any a 'em for your stupid wwalls. This ain't like you, Gam." Your eyebrows are quickly disappearing into your wild mane when you glance at your matesprit.

"I ain't ever killed a pupa and I'm not about to start," assures Gamzee. "Anyway, I don't see how any of this is all up and your business, motherfucker. You ain't a member of the hive. You aren't even what I would call an ally. You're just kind of... here where you are supposed to not be. Don't your motherfucking Heiress miss her moirail?"

"She's your Heiress too, landdwweller," he chews the last word on its way out like it is distasteful.

"Mmmm," the highblood hums. "S'ppose she is at that. We'll motherfuckin see where she stands soon enough."

"Wwhat is that supposed to mean?" snarls Ampora, his fins flaring out dangerously.

"I mean I sent out one of those bottled messages to her awhile back," Gamzee blinks languidly. "Told her about Karkat here and some of the new ideas we all up and had."

"You _what_?" you both screech at the same time.

"You cannot be serious-"

"Wwhat do you think you're-"

"Whoa there, motherfuckers," he chuckles. "No reason to get all up in arms about it. We will see what the Tyrian Lady has to say about hemoequality soon enough."

"Wait, you can't mean-"

"Fef is commin _here_?" the violetblood gawks. Then suddenly he is in motion, scrambling to get together his things, "Oh Glub! Oh no! She can _not_ be thinkin a steppin fin on dry land! I wwill _murder_ sometroll. Don't think I wwon't! Oh Glub! Just the Empress's assassins alone wwill be Hell. Fuckin glubbin sorry-assed motherfucker!" He whirls back around, his arms full of random supplies.

" ** _You_** ," he snarls at Gamzee with a ferocity that somewhat concerns you. If he drops the rest of those supplies and arms that rifle, everyone in the hive is so dead. "You _knoww_ that Fef has been targeted for _swweeps_ noww. If anythin happens to her wwhile she's on dry land-"

"Ain't no reason to get all up and in arms," the purpleblood repeats, finally looking in Ampora's direction. "She could always have said no, motherfucker. She chose to come. If you didn't want her to be off swimming around the seas without you, you shoulda kept your ass in the ocean where it belongs."

The seatroll opens his mouth to retort, then sharply closes it with an audible snap as he reconsiders. Then he tries again, "You are still responsible if a single hair on her head is harmed wwhile she's on your land. I ain't playin games, Gam. I wwill straight up start a genocide. An your hivve wwill be first. Serket wwas protectin your asses wwhen she was my kismesis, but noww she's nothing to me. I could raze this coast to the ground an nevver so much as blink. You're all just landdwwellers to me."

He speaks so calmly that you have no doubt he would fulfill his dark promises if given the slightest opportunity. A chill rushes up your spine and lodges in the vicinity of your bloodpusher. _This_ was the troll that had taken you captive- nothing like the fishpunning slimeball front he puts up. The look in his eyes is enough to make every instinct in your head scream for you to get away. The memories are worse. He strides calmly out the door without so much as glancing back, and only a small part of you is relieved.

* * * * *

"Would you please stop fidgeting?" your moirail tugs your hand away from your collar and back down to your side.

You grimace, "I'm about to either be impaled on sight or, worse, actually have to _talk_ to the Heiress, in which case I will probably say something fucking awful and then have to cull myself publicly. Rather than look like a stuffed doll in a hideous getup, I would much rather spend my last few moments on this planet _being able to breathe_."

She swats your hand away again, "You are being melodramatic. High collars are traditional for military uniforms. Be grateful that your matesprit and I convinced Lord Zahhak that although full plate armor is also customary, you would probably be unable to move."

"I'm not _that_ small," you growl, leaning away as she attempts to smooth down your hair.

"I was more referring that you would be more able to dodge if someone attacked you," sighs the jadeblood. "No armor light enough for you to wear will prevent the Heiress's trident from piercing you. I have heard tales that she can punch holes through the sides of ships with it. Not to mention the ever-present threat of Ampora's beam rifle."

"Lovely," you snark. "Just lovely. And I bet we are letting them in this place armed. I'm so fucking dead."

"Not if they want to walk out of here alive, Karkles," a horridly pointy elbow rests on the top of your head. "You are the pin holding this whole crazy operation together, not to mention my moirail. If you go, it'll all dissolve into chaos faster than your corpse can hit the floor."

"This is not comforting in the slightest," you hiss. "You _really_ suck at this, Terezi."

She shrugs and swaggers in front of you, "I just tell it like it is. I'm really good at reading people, Karkles. If you go, your quadrantmates aren't the only ones who will take up arms. I would. Most of the hive would even before I could give the order. Nepeta and Lord Zahhak, as well. Ampora will try to push you into action. He hates the idea of hemoequality in a totally platonic way, since his precious Orphaner Dualscar would hate it. If he can make you react, he can claim justification for any resulting fallout from duels to a hive cleansing. So whatever you do, _don't take the bait_."

Her eyes are flaming crimson holes boring into your own as you nod, "I'm not stupid, Rez. I'll keep my sickle at my side as long as his gun isn't pointed at anyone."

"Good kid," she smirks, apparently satisfied. She leans back and taps her cane on the floor twice, "They'll be here any minute now. We should join Gamzee in the Grand Hall. We've basically told anyone not on guard duty to shove off, so it won't be horribly crowded."

"Who's on guard duty?" you find yourself asking as you follow her, your arm tucked up into the crook of your moirail's own.

"Jade's inclade," snorts the Legislacerator. "Her moirail and Violet's have apparently been flirting flush hardcore since they laid eyes on each other. We all expect a courtship duel within the week, since Violet will not stand to do anything improperly. On a more serious note, Jade's long barrel marksmanship is probably even better than Ampora's, so we wanted her on standby should anything go down. She may not have the sheer destructive power of Ahab's Crosshairs, but that won't matter if it comes down to a gunshow."

"Well that's a nice thing to know," you surmise. "Although you do realize that if Cerulean starts swinging that idiotic rainbow hammer the whole hall is going to be wrecked, right?"

Her black lips twitch, "I'm actually worried about him the least. You haven't even seen Violet fight." You would not even know how to reply to that if you had not just walked into the strangely empty hall and seen a most unwelcome sight. Beside you, your moirail stiffens.

Terezi's disturbingly long tongue darts out to lick her serrated fangs, "Serket. Please tell me that you have entered this hive uninvited and I am within my legal rights to cut you down where you stand."

The blueblood tosses her head, flipping her hair over her wounded eye, "Soooooooo sorry, Terezi, but I was invited in by you're very own moirail. I told him that as a member of this insane endeavor and the lead Spymaster, I wanted in on this meeting."

"Of course you have every right to be here, but if you cause any sort of trouble, even with Ampora, I will gut you so quickly that no one will even notice," the tealblood smiles sweetly, and motions Kanaya to usher you around the two of them.

"Karkitty!" Nepeta's gleeful shout announces that Lord Zahhak obviously had the same idea. Sure enough, you spot him standing still as a statue next to Violet, the blue sweat already pouring off of him. You would almost say he was intimidated, but the night that Zahhak is afraid of another troll is the night that you start digging your own grave. Curious, you detach from your moirail to pad over to them.

He inclines his head, "Vantas. As much as it pains me to even think of siding with sea scum such as Ampora- not that there is anything wrong with seadwellers in general! Oh, fiddlesticks!"

"No offense taken," you scrunch your nose. "Seriously. I already know you are a bit of an elitist oinkbeast."

"You may continue," Violet so grandly gestures, as if giving him permission was the same thing as forgiving him.

"Right," he swallows roughly. "Ampora aside, I do believe that this will make the movement as a whole stronger if we can sway the Heiress to our side. From what our network says, the people in general do not want to overthrow the Empire entirely. They want change, but not anarchy."

"They would much prefer that it simply undergo new management," you suddenly understand. "Well, I for one was never planning on building my own empire, so as long as this Heiress is halfway-decent I am all for letting her take over the reins of the Alternian empire. Once we make our rather reasonable requests known, of course."

"Of course," the soft smirk on the other seadweller's face suggests that she understands exactly what you are implying. One ruler or another, you were going to have your reform.

* * * * *

"Announcing The Heiress Feferi Peixes and her moirail, Prince Eridan Ampora!" Cerulean (for once) sounds as serious as can be. He opens his mouth to add something and you spot Jade thwacking him upside the head. Thank goodness that at least she knows the appropriate time and place to pick fights with Ampora (which would be never, in your opinion). The troll that practically bounces through the doors, however, is nothing like what you had come to expect.

First off, she is tiny. Not as tiny as, say, you or Nepeta, but definitely smaller than any of the highblood lords you are currently surrounded by. Ampora himself is nearly stomping in after her, and he is still a good head taller than her. Secondly, she is stunning. Not just in a 'wow, I bet that noble has never worked a night because look at that flawless skin' kind of way. More like in a 'holy shit is this some kind of deity taken troll form' kind of way. Her perfect curved horns match the sigil stitched on her clothes perfectly. You try not to notice how uncannily close to red her pinkish purple looks.

Most of all, though, what strikes you is her wide smile. It looks genuine. And infectious. (Perhaps like a deadly virus.) The woman is practically _frothing_ with excitement. This does not strike you as someone come to make some sort of diplomatic alliance. More like someone who is a small pupa in a store full of sweets. She flounces right up to Lord Zahhak (of all people) and takes one of his giant paws in her own two dainty hands.

"It's so good to seeeeeea you, Equius!" she exclaims. Her voice is high and sharp, something like a small bell being struck with a blade.

"Hurk-" he goes an entirely unpleasant shade of blue, clamming up entirely.

"He means it is pawfully wonderful to see you, too!" his little moirail pipes up from his side.

"Nepeta!" she squeals and automatically launches herself at the oliveblood. You are glad that the girl can obviously take some heavy handling (you've seen her tackle Zahhak to the floor for crying out loud), since that hug looks like it could snap spines.

"Fef, please, wwe talked aboat this," Ampora is trying to get her attention, his hand hovering above her shoulder.

"Ohmygods, Terezi!" she completely ignores him to suddenly run to the Legislacerator. "I haven't seen you in sweeeeeeeeeeps!"

"I have not seen you ever," snarks the tealblood, but even so, she holds her fondly by the elbows and regards her. "It has been a long time. We were barely pupas then."

"We were small enough fry to ride on Old Grandy's coat tails," giggles the seatroll. "And Gamzee! Whale, look at you! All big and lanky like he was. Oh! Is this crabcake him?" Suddenly she is leaning way into your personal space, and you can sense Kanaya tensing.

" _Fef_ ," the violetblood nearly whines. "Please clam dowwn."

She immediately rounds on him, "He's adorabubble! Why didn't you tell me he was so adorabubble? You are awful! You are shrimply horribubble and awful and should feel bad!"

He outright blanches, "Fef. No."

"Fine. We will glub aboat it later," she agrees, "but you are not off the hook, Mister!"

There is an unpleasant snickering to the side, "Nice to see that I left before you became this spineless, Dualscar the Second."

"Vvris," violet eyes suddenly narrow dangerously. "Wwater you doin here?"

"As one of the land nobles, and one of our key informants, she unfortunately has every right to be here," interrupts Terezi before Serket can reply herself. "Both of you do us all a favor and just shut up until the meeting is adjourned. Or take it outside."

"My fine fishy sister, could you all up and moth- move on from the meet and greet?" Gamzee actually manages to censor himself. You find yourself faintly impressed that this woman, Heiress or not, can make him put forth the effort. "We have things to discuss."

"Oh, you're right!" she claps her hands together once as if suddenly remembering. "Gamzee! Gamzee you have some _wonderful_ ideas! I've been carping on Eridan _forever_ aboat changing the system when I take the helm. I'll even stop the fish puns to show just how serious I am. Do you know what I want to do with culling?"

"Oh, Fef, not this again," sighs the violetblood wearily.

"I want culling to be a program where the infirm and disabled are taken care of," she states. "Where they can be coddled and protected by others. I mean some trolls will still probably have to be sentenced to death, but only the rare ones that are generally threats to themselves and everyone else. We will still have to have a judicial system, don't worry Terezi, but one where lowbloods are not automatically assumed guilty before proven innocent. Oh, and no more cavern trials! Grubs are tiny and cute and full of the future. We should not expect all of them to be perfect from the very start.

"And there should be less fighting! Trolls are always fighting! We need a governing force that can mediate as well as it can bash some sense into heads. I originally planed on repurposing the drones, but after meeting a few I think it would be better to put them to some nice physical labor. Like repairing hives. Oh and-"

"Whoa, whoa!" Terezi is carefully interrupting her. "Slow down, Feferi! You are getting over-excited again. The rest of us are still trying to keep up with your quick tongue."

"But there are so many things I need to say!" she pouts.

Gamzee chuckles and nudges an elbow into your ribs, "Does she sound like someone you can reason all your plans with?"

"Yeah," you close your gaping mouth. "Yeah, I think we can manage."

* * * * *

The discussion ends up becoming more of a democracy than anything else. Even the guards had joined you at some point. Crimson introduced himself to the Heiress as 'the other redblood' and she about had a conniption fit over how he was the same size as you. The plans are well on their way to taking shape, since it is fairly easy to agree with the tyrianblood on most of her ideas (hemoequality being one of the biggest). There are still some rough edges that need to be smoothed over, but overall you are feeling pretty good about this whole endeavor.

And that's when Ampora finally loses his cool.

"You are all imbeciles!" he suddenly slams a fist down on the table, the resounding crack having several of you reaching for weapons before realizing that he was just going to shout. Until now, he had remained perfectly silent, just as Terezi had asked. (Although you did note that on several occasions you were pretty sure he was physically chewing through his own tongue to remain so.)

"Eridan!" his moirail's tone is disapproving. "I know you never thought much of my ideas before, especially with your bloodletting that sometimes gets out of hand, but look at all these other trolls who agree with me. We can actually _do_ this."

He snarls, "If everything is moonshine and flowwers and evverybody livving, _wwhat about Gl'bgolyb_?"

You are all shocked into silence.

Shit. You are the dumbest asshole on the face of the planet. There should be monuments to how painfully ignorant you are. How could you have forgotten the ever-present danger that the current Empress holds over all of your heads like Armageddon? The creature could practically decimate your little revolution, and most of the population on land, in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. You are quickly recalculating everything in your head. The Empress might actually be cavalier enough to risk those kinds of losses to heavily injure your movement. She might. You could never accept those kinds of casualties.

"Look, I feed that damn thing," Eridan continues after a moment, still fierce and pissed as all Hell. "Evvery lusus and troll I have evver slain has gone into that ravvenous maww. Evvery single glubbin one. I'vve been huntin since I pupated for that monster an knowwin that the minute I let up all you landdwwellers could be dead, but holdin on for Fef. The Rift's Carbuncle's gotta eat. There's no wway around that. Don't you try to tell me you wwill kill her, either. Not until you'vve gone into the deeps and seen her yourselvves."

At this, he suddenly pushes up so he is standing, sending his chair scattering. He tries to stare you each in the eye in turn, "Tell me. Does any single one a you louts got a plan for takin care of her? Hmm? Any wway to fix this little problem? Because as long as she's around, our only option is the same wwar an death an destruction as it's alwways been."

Just as quickly, the fight is snuffed out of him. He hooks the chair back up with his boot and then collapses down onto it. He rubs his forehead in a way that suggests he has spent _way_ too much time thinking about this, "Also, rah, rah, death to all landdwwellers and all that fishshit." He even makes a weak fist pump to punctuate his tired rally.

"I always wondered," the Legislacerator carefully remarks. "Wondered why you killed seatrolls, too. I mean. You kill off way more landdwellers than finfaces, but sometimes you would kill them as well."

He grimaces, still staring at the table, "Not supposed to. Not unless...I'vve been runnin late. Wwhole 'keepin the fear in the landlubbers' and shit. Glubbin fuck did it piss Dualscar off." Beside him, the Heiress's shoulder raise just a tad. It must have been pretty bad if his moirail is getting defensive just by remembering the incident. You do not think you have ever felt so heartbroken and nauseous at the same time.

"Oh," Serket finally says something. "So _that's_ why you were so angry when I dumped your tail. You lost all those bodies I would bring for our little battles. And also why your heart never was in it." The look on her face suggests that her thinkpan is screaming along at full speed as she considers this most relevant information.

He glares at her with a venom that looks nothing close to black, "I wwoulda thought you might have figured it out, considerin. I should havve killed you. I should havve... Fef. Wwe _can't_ do this. You knoww it. Your lusus is the emissary to the horrorterrors, and if she goes hungry then wwe _all_ are gonna be in a right mess."

"What if..." Violet trails off for a moment, her eyes focused on something far away. "What if there was an option besides killing her outright?" The other two seatrolls jump as if they have been stabbed with a pin.

"NO!" snarls the other violetblood. "It's not up for discussion, Subjuggulator. Not evver!" The way the tyrian is chewing her bottom lip, however, suggests that this might be a viable (if highly unpleasant) option.

"Um," you frown. "Mind letting us non-violets in on what you three are talking about?"

"Oh right," Feferi smiles at you, but it has lost a lot of it's shine. "You wouldn't know, since you weren't raised in our waters."

"Fef," her moirail's voice is low and dangerous.

"Oh hush, you shelly thing," she rolls her eyes. "He's allowed to know. He _is_ a seatroll, after all. And probably the best candidate after me..." You suddenly do not at all like the way that Ampora is looking at you, considering this new proposal.

"I was going to volunteer myself," Violet interrupts their thoughts. "Although not the highest blood, it is theoretically still possible. I have been spending quite a bit of my time researching the Old Gods."

"Okay, someone really needs to explain because I don't like the sound of this at all," frowns Crimson. "Volunteer for what, exactly?"

"There is a way...I mean there has to have always been a way, since even she is not immortal," the tyrianblood is looking at Violet with an astounded regard. "Do you really think you could? It has not been tried in sweeps and sweeps. Long before our time, I would guess." When the girl nods, she continues, "There is a way for Gl'bgolyb's position to be... passed down. Someone of high blood has to accept their gift. To become the new emissary of the Horrorterrors."

"I'm not lettin you evven consider it, Fef," Ampora challenges. "One, that wwould mean leavvin the Empire to the current Empress, may she rule ever rightly yadda yadda. Twwo, the last ten or twwelvve trolls wwho tried wwent _grimdark_ for cryin out loud. You'd go madder than a hopbeast an I wwouldn't havve the heart to put you dowwn. Three, evven if it _did_ wwork... you wwouldn't be Feferi Peixes anymore. You'd be a stranger that wwould livve forevver...or until someone wwas stupid enough to take your place."

Your head is spinning. You agree with Ampora (and somehow the world is not ending) that the Heiress is too important to risk. Even if the odds were better, she has a more important part to play. Namely getting this farce of an Empire into some sort of order not based on perpetual fear. The way that it was worded, though. Someone of high blood. Your thinkpan stalls. Oh. Well then. Maybe your useless hide could be a little less so.

"Karkat," Kanaya speaks up. "I know that look. If you so much as suggest what you are thinking, I will be forced to remind you that you are the entire reason this whole endeavor is being discussed right now. Also, I am about six hundred and twelve percent sure that not a single one of us in here would let you. Not counting Ampora, of course."

"Hey!" he sounds affronted. He gestures vaguely at Violet, "I'm not evven too keen on lettin _her_ do it and I havven't been flirtin black with her for the past couple wweeks. Wwhy does evveryone assume I'm a complete basshole?"

"Because you are," about eight voices pipe up as one.

"Seriously, though," the troll with the ridiculous shades is turning to his moirail. "This kind of sounds like an awful idea. A wonderful, _awful_ idea. What's this noise about you going grimdark?"

"It is one of the risks," she shrugs elegantly. "The whispers of the Gods are too powerful for some people, and they succumb to a sort of manic madness before the process can be completed. However, my lusus, Oglomom, appears to be a distant relative of Gl'bgolyb and the Horrorterrors. This gives me some reason to believe that I may be more successful. Also, I... I may have in my possession a Grimoire."

* * * * *

When the meeting is adjourned so that the Heiress can 'go have a quick breather' in the ocean (because somehow that now makes sense), you climb up to the roof of the hive. You have no idea why you are up here, except something about the cold indifference of the stars is strangely comforting. It really should not be, especially after that in-depth discussion of the Outer Gods you were just forced to take part in, but it is. If Violet is right and she is able to take the place of the current emissary, that would clear the path for your reform in more ways than one.

The Empress would have lost her most powerful weapon. She would no longer be able to threaten all the psychically-susceptible lowbloods, and they would be free to make their own choices. It also has the added benefit of making war no longer a necessity for the survival of the race. Beyond that, there is another thought you keep having. That somehow the emissary of the old Gods might be able to garner their favor. Having someone besides the Empress that could oversee the future generations and uphold the peace is more than you could have hoped for. Especially if that someone was not entirely beholden to the Empress.

Someone pokes the crease between your brows, "You all up and look like someone told you some motherfuckin noise about the end of the world coming early. Relax, brother. We will get things sorted soon enough."

You sigh and close your eyes, "I know. It's just. A lot to think about. I've got to plan all of this so that everything goes as close to perfect as it can get. And things like Horrorrterrors and bloodfeuds are not making it any easier."

He gives a thoughtful hum in response. You wait, knowing that he will either respond when he finds the words or not at all. There is a repetitive noise in the distance, like some kind of whoosh of air. It might also be getting louder. It is kind of annoying. You open your eyes, intending to ask Gamzee what he thought it was. Then you see it.

"Shitfuckinghelldragonnobadfuck!" rushes out of you all at once, and you are scrambling to get out of the way. Something wraps around your waist and in a harsh jerk the whole world goes gray. You come to a stop that is just as wrenching and realize that your matesprit had literally picked you up and flashstepped with you. If you manage to not vomit up your own bilesack, you will punch him.

"Pyralspite!" he calls out in genuine surprise. "I didn't know you were getting your visit on this soon! Teresis is still downstairs."

"D-D-D-" you stammer, your bloodpusher still hammering out a staccato beat.

"I'm on dragon!" a new voice exclaims, loud and excited. "Take a good hard look at the motherfuckin dragon I am currently fucking _riding_! Holy shit!"

You spot the young teenager (and you have no idea how he is not dead yet) as he excitedly bounces from his perch just behind the massive white head. His eyes, although blown wide with adrenaline, are flat grey without a trace of color; he could not have been much older than seven despite his size. As if to prove to you how crazy he is, he clambers onto the giant lizard's head and proceeds to lie down on its face. It appears mildly inconvenienced at best.

"Uh, I'm not sure who you are, little motherfucker, but that's all kinds of inappropriate with someone's lusus," your matesprit scratches his nose. "I don't think Teresis will-"

"Pyralspite! What is this about you needing help?" the tealblood makes a rather noisy entrance. "If this is about you eating some Lord's lusus again, I'm going to-" She sniffs hard. "Um. Who the fuck is that?"

"I'm on a dragon motherfucker; take a look at me!" energetically babbles the stranger. "Straight glidin on a dragon over the deep blue sea! Bustin five drones, wind whippin out my coat! You can't stop me, motherfucker, cause I'm not on a boat!"

"That makes absolutely no sense," she wrinkles her nose.

"Did I just hear some kid rapping up here?" Crimson appears out of nowhere with that stupid way of his. He nods. "Nice dragon. You wanna throw down some sick beats? Tell me your slam poetry, little man." You facepalm.

" _Best_ dragon," the stranger practically purrs before sitting up. "Okay! Let's make some noise, for all of my boys! Rhymin is all about timin, pump primin. Walk the miles with a smile, bite back the bile. It'll be a while before you can imitate my style. As fab as you be, you ain't got shit on me. 'Cause I'm a desert strider, and now a dragon rider!" As he talks, he gets more animated, until at this point he is standing in an almost Pupa-Pan pose on top of the dragon's nose. Oh fuck. Now you are starting to rhyme.

Then the mythical creature apparently has finally had enough and tips its head so the teenager falls. Like thirty feet. He lands with a distinct thwump; the fucker does not even roll. As concerned as you are, all he does is break into giggles. Probably a highblood. He starts waving his limbs like an overturned shellbeast and you correct yourself to mentally-disabled-or-impaired highblood. Perfect. Exactly how you wanted your night to go.

"That wasn't half bad, but you're nowhere near rad," begins the other redblood. "I'll show you-"

"That's more than enough," Terezi slaps a hand over his mouth. "It took me _sweeps_ to get Gamzee to outgrow his slam poetry phase. I really do not want a relapse. Again, who is this young ruffian? And why is Pyralspite apparently reluctant to 'eat the annoying young one?'"

The teenager is back on his feet, dusting off his perfectly flat ass. The kid must run miles. His gaze is still directed at the lizard, as if four adult trolls are not anything to pay attention to, "What a pretty thing! Such a exquisite, lovely, wonderful, amazing, beautiful, ravenous, stunning, absolutely fuckin _gorgeous_ girl you are! And I'm here talkin to ya!" At this, the Dragon's tongue comes out and _licks_ the kid from head to toe in one swipe.

"I am ashamed that you are so moved by petty flattering," the Legislacerator hangs her head.

After a moment of standing there stunned, the teenager suddenly breaks into a huge grin. He launches himself forward to hug the thing, and then proceeds to _lick it back_. Right on the tip of the snout. You feel faintly appalled.

"Hey, hey!" Crimson is suddenly by the kid's side, trying to sheppard him back. "You can't just lick someone's lusus, dude. Rude!"

He steps back willingly and turns to the three of you with a lopsided grin, "I just licked _a dragon_." Then he bursts into giggles again.

"Where did you even _find_ this complete nutjob?" Terezi fiddles with her cane. "I'm like seventy-seven percent sure he is a regular consumer of either sopor or rock candy."

"Wait, what time is it?" the kid jerks to attention. "Aw, fuck! I'm gonna be late! I gotta go!" He bounds about two paces before you all realize that he is heading for the fucking ledge. You are about seven stories up. Before you can do so much as yell out, Gamzee has appeared in front of him. As the kid attempts to run by, he grabs one dangerously pointed horn and a fistful of tunic to whirl the kid back towards the center of the roof.

That is precisely when the teenager devolves into a whirlwind of snarling fangs and claws. By the time he and the Grand Highblood have disengaged, there is a splattering of purple blood ruining a nice dress shirt. Kanaya is going to throw a fit. The guy looks down at the blood on his claws and blinks. Then he sticks his forefinger in his mouth to start sucking on it.

"'m sorry," he mumbles. "Don't like. Bein grabbed. Yeah. Tastes salty."

"Motherfucker," Gamzee takes a deep breath. "You were bout to go pitching off my roof and make yourself into a nice little smear of grubsauce. And instead you shredded my motherfucking sleeves. Give me one reason not to thrash you."

"You grabbed me," he tilts his head. "Were you worried? No need. I'll be fine. I'm always fine. Finest fine that can be. I've jumped from higher. The void, you know. It calls me sometimes. She's just been gone _so long_ , you know? I just. I'll be fine when she comes home."

"Are you telling us that you make it a habit to hijack people's flying lusus and then jump from tall buildings?" questions Terezi. "Because there are about three cullable offenses right there. Not even considering what fucking drugs you are on."

"I'm not," he says suddenly serious. "I'm just so _excited_. I haven't been this excited since I found that meadow of catnip! My 'rail just about- My 'rail! I'm going to be late!" He darts for the edge of the roof again, and this time Gamzee just shakes his head and lets the kid run by.

"W-wait! Are you fucking insane?" you yell, but he is already leaping into the air. He raises his hand above his head and crows triumphantly. Something large whooshes by all of you and snatches him out of the air. When it starts to fly off, you realize that it is an extremely large bird of some kind, as black as night and big enough to carry a full-grown troll on its back, let alone a growing teenager in its claws. You all just kind of stare as it wings away into the distance.

"Is...Is that kid a...Did he just _commune_ with that roc?" your thinkpan is already giving up on this night. "I thought for sure he was a highblood with that build."

"That would explain why Pyralspite is so calm," muses the tealblood. "The only other person to ever ride her was..."

"Tavros," Gamzee's face is a bitter snarl of painful remembrance and disgust. "That motherfucker has no right."

"...you do all realize that we basically _have_ to recruit that shithive maggots kid now, right?" Crimson asks. "I mean. Think of the battle opportunities. Also, that would be a really bad thing to have to fight against. Don't know about you guys, but I prefer I don't get eaten by Dragonmom here in the middle of a battle."

"... _fuck_ ," the three of you respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updatin whoo!! so. this is fun. eridan just kinda sprung that shit on me and now hes actually a sympathetic character instead of a villainous asshole. great. i totally needed more eridan feels. **facepalm**
> 
> also. this new character is an oc. unlike other ocs he is fairly important and will be poppin up again. there is plot relevance and shit. dont worry though. the story is still gonna focus on the main characters.


	19. Gamzee

"A communer?" Ampora overhears your conversation.

You matesprit frowns, "It sure looked like it, but there's no way to be sure. Either way, we should try to recruit him if we can. Even if he _is_ off his rocker, that kind of skill..."

"Like the Summoner," he appears to already be plotting. "I think you guys better find him, and not just for battle, either. If he can commune wwith lusii, he might be able to smooth ovver the transition wwith the Emissary. Wwe need all the help wwe can get."

"Shit," hisses out Karkat. "I didn't even think of that. It's entirely possible, since he was hanging out with Terezi's lusus. But he literally just flew off. There's no way to track him."

"Wwhat? Did he sprout glubbin wwings?"

"We've got our little spy friends for a reason, motherfucker," you ignore the violetblood in favor of your quadrantmate. "He may not have been wearing any sigil or marks, but we got a good look at him. Why don't you draw up some sketches for them?"

"Yeah," he wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, I can do that. Not sure how much it will help unless he hangs around this general area, though. He mentioned deserts."

"Hmm, true enough," you scratch your chin. "Let's do it anyway. I don't want them bringin in every motherfuckin feral teen they come across, as bitchtits as that party would be." He makes a noise of either agreement or despair and scuttles off, hopefully to get started on his drawings to hand out to the spies when they check in.

"I cannot evven _fathom_ howw wwe are gonna get this to wwork, Gam," begins Ampora, "but wwe gotta. Fef is settin her eyes on this revvolution idea, and I don't think she'll wwait much longer. If Vviolet can make the shift... wwe might havve a shot at the throne. Oh glub I'm already talkin treason. You are all awwful landlubbers an no one wwould believve you anywway, though. So I'll just say it plain-like: wwith the Emissary gone the Empress loses her last resort."

"I know, motherfucker," you stare at him blandly. "That would be what we would up and call the bonus to this particular scenario. Where's your bubbly little moirail at?"

"Off chatting with Nep," he shrugs. "Wwhen you put those twwo together, they both go off the wwall. I can catch a hint, though. I'll go check in wwith them again. Gotta keep vvigilant for assassins anywway." Stalking off, he looks curiously morose. However, you have more important things to attend to than a moping seadweller.

* * * * *

"Look, I know you are impatient, but this is ridiculous," snaps Serket as soon as you enter her hall. "I'm on top of it! I've got four drones I'm keeping tabs on, but the Imperial guards are proving more difficult to penetrate. Highbloods are so annoying like that."

"Calm, spiderbitch," you chuckle. "I'm not here to grief you. In fact, I had another motherfucking job for you, if you were interested."

"Oh?" she perks up. "So soon? What does the mighty Grand Highblood require my services for? I should start charging you suckers."

"You do and I will snap your neck," you grin lazily. "We need to locate a certain little motherfucker. The problem is he's not traceable by normal means. In fact, the general direction he's at ain't even known. Also, he might be a little motherfuckin feral. The thing is, he might be able to commune with beasts, so we motherfucking need him. We need him bad."

Her face goes a little sour at this, and for once you think you can tell what she is thinking. "Sure," her blue eyes glance away. "I can keep an ear to the ground, so to speak."

"That's all I ask," you turn to leave. "That and that you don't motherfuckin cull him when you find him. Bring him motherfuckin undamaged, understand? Undamaged as possible, anyway."

* * * * *

"We've got drones making a reproductive sweep towards the north," Jade reports, pointing to the areas on the map. "I took out the band of highwaytrolls in the area, but apparently they showed up anyway."

"Serket did tell us they were ordered to take care of the problem," points out Cerulean. "They likely got there and were put out that you had already taken care of their job. Now they're going to make a run through the area to look like they are being productive."

"Shit," Karkat is rubbing his eyes. "Did we at least have anyone else in the area to discreetly warn people?" The pupa sitting in his lap pokes his chin curiously. "Ah, it's okay Braggs. Just work things." The little pupa nods solemnly and totters off, apparently understanding that now was not a good time.

"We had a few spies spread the word," nods the Hunterrorist. "It's still pretty touch-and-go up there. Quite a few trolls have fled to either the deserts or the badlands. Neither are particularly safe places for trolls, but the fact that most of them are teenagers makes it worse. Losses are to be expected here."

"I'd prefer to keep them from getting eaten by sandworms if at all possible," frowns the redblood. "Gam, can we send a couple guys to go collect as many of them as we can? Zahhak should still have plenty of room at his hive."

You shake your head, "Too risky. We can't have anyone with Subjuggulator paint caught in the area. In fact, it might be motherfucking best if we just watch this play out. There are too many risks with even sending the mercenaries."

He sneers at the map, "Figures. Someone remind me to go menace Serket later, since apparently she can't give us enough of an advanced warning to be any kind of effective."

His moirail paps the back of his head, "You are _not_ going to go grief that woman over something so trivial."

Cerulean adds, "At least she was able to give us some kind of warning. Now we know what to expect for the next time. Grand Highblood! Might I suggest we have a small team on standby for quick deployment? We could rotate members out so that it's just another round like guarding the hive or cleaning up riffraff."

"I'll take it under consideration," you nod. "Any word on the Heiress?"

"She's left the area," confirms Violet, "and she took her moirail with her. Apparently they have 'bigger fish to fry' right now than to discuss the minutia with us any further, if you'd pardon the pun. She insisted that I relay it word for word."

"Likely trying to get the other motherfucking violetblood nobles to join the cause," you surmise. "I don't envy that task one bit. Motherfuckers are somehow just as unreasonable as Ampora himself. Excludin current company, of course."

"Of course," she smirks.

"Don't fret, KK," the yellowblood is leaning against the wall, apparently either having refused to sit at the table with all of you or realizing that there was very little room left. "I'm not hearing any huge surge of voices, so the bulk of the kids will be fine."

"Well, that is slightly reassuring," he admits.

"Locals are starting to get wind of the movement," continues Sollux. "As a whole, there seems to be more support than not. You are especially popular with the younger generation. Most of the older adults are more hesitant or outright appalled. The problem mostly seems to be that no one is willing to stick their necks out quite yet. They are waiting to see what happens."

"The support of the Heiress could prove valuable in this," adds Kanaya. "As the legitimate heir to the throne, supporting her would be less like treason and more like the same old story of succession attempts."

The lowblood mutant is nodding, "Yeah, it might. There is also something I've been wanting to bring up. KK. It's about time you started wearing your sigil again." You feel yourself tensing and he hurries on, "Not that there's anything wrong with wearing the Grand Highblood's mark. I just get the feeling that you and Crimson, well, you're kind of the symbolic spearpoints to this whole thing. The highest of the high and the lowest of the low. It would just send a better message, is all."

"Actually," Violet appears to be mulling it over, "I agree with Captor. Both as a leader in battle and as a figurehead, you will obtain more respect if you wear your own colors. I can understand why previously you preferred your grey anonymity, but now the meowbeast is out of the bag, so to speak."

"Well, that's going to look scandalous as fuck," concludes Karkat.

The dual-horned troll winces, "Oh shit. I forgot that it would have to be in red. Uh... sorry?"

"Mind letting us in on what you boys are talking about?" your moirail sighs. "I know I am so buried in paperwork right now that you can't see me, but please remember that has never stopped me from acknowledging all of you."

"Sorry, Terezi!" apologizes the little seatroll out of reflex. "Um. My symbol is the Iron Bars..."

You all sit there for a moment.

"And with your cherry blood..." she trails off.

"Yeah," he chews on his bottom lip. "Like the red-hot irons the Sufferer died in. It would pretty much be like a blazing sign screaming fuck you to the Empress and the Empire at large."

"We are _so_ putting that shit on _everything_ ," grins the other redblood. "Forget my stupid Broken Circle. I want that on every single war banner we fly. Holy fucking Hell will that get some tyrian panties in a twist."

"Sometimes I wonder if you are trying to flirt black or get us all brutally murdered," retorts Karkat. "Honestly, it is hard to tell."

"I kinda like the motherfucking idea," you put in.

Karkat slumps until his forehead rests on the table, "Of course you would."

* * * * *

"If you do not pail me, I will motherfucking shrivel up and die," you inform your loving but insanely busy matesprit out of the blue. "I will shrink up like a woolen sweater until I'm two sizes too small for even you. It will be sad."

His harsh bark of laughter does not sound unkind, "Really now? And what brought this on?"

You whine a bit, "How about the motherfucking fact I've been gone and come back to a hive so busy I haven't even gotten to motherfucking _sleep_ with you a whole day, let alone-"

"Yeah, I've noticed," he snorts, combing his claws through your hair. "Believe me. My raging teenage hormones have made it abundantly clear how long it has been. Not to mention the fact Ampora was hanging around to dump his stupid fishy pheromones all over the place." He pauses, "I don't think we're needed for the immediate future." There is a hint of suggestion there that might mean he is trying to be seductive. It is entirely adorable.

"Fuck yes!" you exclaim, scooping him up. Within moments, you are back at your respiteblock. He pokes fun at your eagerness but is just as quick to rip off his clothes as you are. They get shucked into a messy trail as the two of you hungrily taste each others lips. There is a touch of desperation to your every move. Your precious little firecracker is going now to places where you are not sure you can follow; his crimson blood and holy revolution marking him for something you have only begun to fathom.

"Hey," he breaks away, capturing your face in his hands. "Slow down. We've got time."

You open your mouth to remind him of how little time you might have, but he brushes his thumb across your lips. As always, he has seen right through you. Humming slightly, you relent. He leads you gently to the couch (and oh are you so glad you had one brought up here even if Cerulean had been laughing too hard to help). The slight upward tug of his lips is soft and satisfied. You settle down onto the mattress and he straddles your hips. He kisses you chastely, little feathering ones that trail over your face and down your throat.

Ever impatient, you reach a hand upward to cup his bulge. He makes a strangled sort of annoyed noise, but your grin does not falter. Even if he is trying to be sweet and gentle, his unsheathing bulge is evidence that he is just as worked up as you are. Chewing on his bottom lip, he tilts his head back and groans. You can feel your own bulge waking, and you have had enough of teasing. With a deft hook of a leg, you have flipped him over to the side to reverse your positions. As he opens up his mouth to gasp, you lean over to capture the noise between your two mouths. His bulge is already working its way towards your nook, and his hands are curled into your wild mane of hair.

The door suddenly creaks open, "Hey, KK, are you up h-OH MY GODS!" You glance over just in time to spot a brightly-yellow face disappearing back behind the half-open door.

"Hnngh," you grunt. "Could you up and give us a few minutes, motherfucker?"

"Just get your asses downstairs at some point," the goldblood's voice sounds strained. "I've got a lead on your roof-hopper." The door closes fully, and you swear you can hear him scrambling away.

"You are _such_ an asshole," remarks Karkat.

You decide to shut him up with a delicious grind of your hips, "Mmm, where were we?"

"F-fuck!" he responds.

"That's where I thought," you grin.

* * * * *

By the time you and Karkat slip into the meeting room, Marquise Serket and Lord Zahhak are already there. Nepeta is chatting merrily with your moirail, even as Terezi begins drawing up some drafts of what you are going to assume are papers for conscription. In times of need, you are basically given free reign to force other trolls into becoming Subjuggulators. You never liked doing that; free trolls worked harder and were less likely to try to stab you in the back when you were looking elsewhere. You fold yourself down into your chair and immediately look to the double-horned lowblood.

"So, what do you know of this annoyin motherfucker that likes to mess with lusii?" you ask.

He grunts, studiously trying to avoid looking in your direction, "I have a name and a location, which is Olly and the desert. Apparently he is quite well-known with the orphans and resistance members. From what I've heard, he takes odd jobs, mostly, but he is not afraid to get his hands dirty. Rampaging lusii, imminent drone sweeps, annoying highwaymen- basically they call him when things get dicey."

"So basically a lot like an illegit version of what we do," clarifies your moirail. "A mercenary for hire. No wonder I disliked him immediately."

"I suppose so, but he is a lot cheaper than you guys," shrugs the lowblood mutant. "Apparently if you are 'smaller than he is' he takes the case pro bono. This means most the work he does is mopping up cull messes and escorting orphans to safe houses. The guy sounds like a punk version of Pupa Pan. One that goes around slaughtering drones. I had no fewer than three informants ask me if I was a mutant in need of 'some muscle for hire.' Are you sure he's only a kid?"

"Brilliant," sighs Karkat. "And we already know he is highly unstable and possibly completely shithive maggots. This should go over swell."

"I vote that we take just the highbloods," muses Serket. "Since his ability is an unknown quantity, it is best to give him as few psychically-susceptible targets as we can."

"Kanaya is coming because I've never seen anyone who can smooth over ruffled feathers so neatly," Terezi decides. "Also, Captor here will have to come, since he is the one with the intel. Then I would suggest Karkles as well, since he should be the one asking. Me for legal reasons. Serket for mind things. Does that about cover it?"

"No way am I staying behind, Teresis," you inform her. "Also... Zahhak better come, too." When they all gape at you, you add, "Have any of you motherfuckers ever even _seen_ a sandworm? The weigh a couple tons and have a hankerin for the fleshy bits of trolls. We'll need the extra muscle if things go motherfucking bad out there."

* * * * *

You all hang back, watching, as the lowblood mutant lopes over to talk to his most reliable informant. Somehow you are not surprised to see that it is a young lowblood, still a pupa. The kid glances fearfully at your assorted group of highblood adults and you kind of wish you had thought this through more thoroughly. After a moment though (and what looks to be an exchange of coin), the little lowblood boy slowly approaches you group.

"You guys want to see Olly?" his eyes skitter over your large frames. "Never had grown-ups ask before."

"They're cool, Domino," Sollux assures him. "We're all with the little guy."

The kid sizes up your matesprit, "Yeah, he's little enough. What do you need?"

"All we need is an introduction," Karkat says.

The kid peers at him more closely, "You...you're..." He turns to Sollux, "Is he?"

"Yeah," is all the double-horned troll says. "I told you it was a job with a good purpose."

"Well...fuck," the kid rubs the back of his neck. "Sure, yeah. I can take you to where he was. Dunno if he'll still be there. He don't stay in one place long."

"How exactly did you meet this Olly?" asks the redblood.

"Me?" Domino looks almost comically shocked that your nubby-horned love would ask such a thing from him. "Um, well, you see...he saved me. My lusus got hurt and I was too little to help. So I called Olly." He shoots a rather frightened glance towards Terezi and you, "I-I know we're not supposed to, but... I didn't have no choice. I needed help. Olly came when I called. He helped." He is wringing his hands nervously.

"They aren't here to cause trouble, Domino," Sollux edges so he is between him and your group. "You did good. How's your lusus now?"

"Probably mad I'm in town again," he wrinkles his nose. "We should hurry. Olly doesn't stay in one place long. The desert is really big."

"Nomad teenager," you grunt. "Hopefully he's not wandered too far."

"You know..." the kid hesitates. "Olly... his sign..."

Serket makes an impatient noise, "We don't need to know which stars he was hatched under, kid. All those horoscopes are a bunch of hocus-pocus anyway."

"No," he shakes his head. "That's just it. He wasn't hatched under any stars. I saw it once, his sign. It's Sol."

You go stiff, "Sol?"

"Someone tell me what that means?" Karkat frowns. "I don't get why this matters."

"Sol means the sun," your moirail hisses. "He was hatched during the day, Karkles."

* * * * *

You all follow the kid out of town, letting Sollux and Karkat walk beside him so as not to look so much like a mercenary band strong-arming a pupa into telling you where someone is hiding out. Sadly it feels a lot like that is exactly what you are doing. The few trolls out and about quickly find something to do in the opposite direction of your group; one greenblood going so far as to turn completely around when she realized her path would cross yours. You all seem to relax a little once the buildings fall away behind you.

"Tell me about this Sol sign," Karkat asks the kid.

"It's the mark of the Doombringers," the pupa solemnly states. He holds his fists closed in front of him, and then opens them into a circle with his thumbs and forefingers touching. "It looks like a target. Trolls hatched under the sun are bad luck." He takes this time to grip both of his wrists in a warding gesture.

Your matesprit snorts, "Trolls make their own luck, Domino. Besides, you made out alright after he helped out."

"Yeah," he nods. "I guess so. I carried garlic just in case. He's nicer than a feral, anyway."

"That's good to know," smiles Karkat. You all continue on in silence after that. You pass through the plains and into the sandier areas. Soon all of you are trudging up dunes with the moonlight high above you. The pupa never falters or seems indecisive. Rather, he seems to know exactly where he was going. You have a nagging suspicion that he has seen this so-called Doombringer rather recently.

"This is as far as I go," he stops suddenly, turning towards Sollux. "You remember the call?"

"Yeah, but do I really have to do that?" whines the goldblood.

"That's how he knows someone sent you," shrugs Domino. "I don't think he'll come if you don't."

"Fine," he sighs, before handing the kid another coin. "Here. Thanks for bringing us all the way out here."

"Sure," the tiny hand closes around the metal circle. "Good luck to you. And don't make him angry." With that, he takes a harsh turn and scampers away as fast as his little legs will carry him. That does not look good at all.

"Serket," you growl lowly, "whatever you do, don't hurt him too bad. If he's already damaged in the thinkpan and you make it motherfucking worse, he'll be no use at all."

She eyes you with something like disdain, "I won't do anything... permanent. Depends on how agreeable he wants to be."

* * * * *

"Okay, so I'm thinking me and Karkat should do the talking," the lowblood lays out his gameplan. "Even if he _is_ crazy, he has got to know that a group of highblood adults does not mean anything good for him."

"Sure, we'll let you butter him up first," agrees Terezi. "Just call him over here already."

"Right," he nods. Then he turns back to the dunes and cups his hands around his mouth, "Olly Olly Oxenfree~!"

"The fuck is that little song supposed to-"

"Olly Olly, that's me!" an echo returns. In a few moments, a figure in the distance comes into view, making its way steadily towards you. A rather horribly misshapen figure. It takes a moment of squinting for you to realize that the kid is half-carrying-half-dragging some sort of desert bear.

"Is he carrying a Sandbear?" the jadeblood asks. "Those are quite dangerous creatures. Not to mention heavy."

"I suppose we should go help him," sighs Kar. "Or at least meet him part way. I don't want to be out here any longer than we have to; the desert is absolutely not a safe place for trolls."

"Agreed," Zahhak nods.

You allow Sollux and Karkat to take the lead, with you and the others trailing behind. It is of the upmost importance that you do _not_ scare this kid. You know better than some how dangerous communers can be when they are frightened. As you approach, you note the dark blue coat tied around his waist. He is either a highblood himself (unlikely but then again there is you and Serket) or quadranted to one. Perhaps that would make things go over more smoothly. After all, highblood children are less afraid of adults than the lowblood ones.

"Yo," he comes to a stop at a slightly farther than respectable distance, and you find yourself noting his lopsided fangs. One canine was elongated, but the other appeared to be the same size as his other fangs. Between that and his forward-pointing horns, it gives him a slightly intimidating appearance. "Which one o you rang?"

"Oh, that'd be me," admits Sollux as he steps forward. "We needed to talk to you. Well, I guess specifically me and the little dude. Is it okay if he comes over?"

Gray eyes appraise your matesprit, "Sure, I guess. I mean. Uh. Lemme set down my friend here." He slips out from under the bear, slowly lowering it to the ground, "You can talk while I work, right? I got shit to do and no time to waste, Slim."

"Uh, sure," the lowblood replies, motioning for Karkat to join him. "We can talk while you do whatever."

"Goodnight, Oxenfree," greets the seadweller like a respectable troll. "We were wondering if we could ask you some questions." The troll gives a sort of acquiescing grunt, not looking up from the apparently important task of pulling one of the bear's forelegs out straight. The thing looks like it has seen better days, leaking bronze blood into the sand. Karkat decides to continue, "Right. First off, how in the world did you even manage to _find_ Pyralspite, let alone convince her not to eat you?"

"The dragon?" he wrinkles his nose as he places a couple lengths of sturdy pipe around the bear's limb. "It's a giant white thing in the sky. How could I _not_ see the beauty? How is she doin? Meant to visit. Got busy. Always so busy. But it's fine. I'm fine. Just gotta wait it out 'til she gets back." He pulls out a long length of cloth and begins lashing the pipes to the limb. You note that it strangely looks like some kind of splint.

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning something like that before," replies the redblood. "Who is 'she,' exactly?"

"My 'rail," the kid rolls his eyes in a 'duh, who else?' kind of way. Something about his arrogance grates you the wrong way; he must remind you of someone annoying. He ties off the strip of fabric and pulls out another before adding in a small voice, "She's been gone awful long though."

"Why don't you tell me about her?" prompts Karkat. The kid pauses, blinks, and then looks over at him as he continues, "No, I'm serious. Maybe we could, I don't know, help you find her?"

"I know where she is," he states calmly. "I just can't go there. None of us can. Can't bring her back either. No matter how many jobs I do."

"Okay, I'm not really liking what this is sounding like," frowns your friend. "Is she...dead?"

"No, Dia's bringin her," he suddenly seems a lot less friendly. "You got a job or not?"

"KK, please let me handle this," hisses Sollux. He turns to the teenager and continues at a more conversational tone, "Brings her back from where, little guy? What place is she at?"

He stares. Not at you, exactly, but kind of through you. The smile that spreads across his face is a sad facsimile of an expression you have seen broken trolls wear. "The big ones know," replies the kid. "The death place. The dark place. Where you go to be tried."

You feel yourself steeling for a fight, "She's been taken by drones, hasn't she?"

"They've caught her before," he frowns. "She's always come back, though. Nothin can ever hold her long."

"I am sure she will be back soon," soothes Kanaya, and you would almost be thankful for the jadeblood were she not telling him blatant lies. No one escapes the drones. Not for long, anyway.

"I gotta," the kid is shifting uneasily. "I gotta get back to work. I gotta stay busy. Stay fine. Gotta finish this job. Hafta... get ready. Dia'll be back soon. Big job to do. And she'll bring her. She always comes back." He finishes lashing the fabrics around the leg.

"Wait, who is Dia?" asks Karkat, obviously not knowing when to quit. The kid turns to reply, and the giant paw of the bear you had previously assumed dead makes a swipe at the back of his head. It connects with a loud smack. The teenager frowns. Then he turns back to the bear and _swats its nose_. Like it was some kind of impudent young barkbeast. From the resounding crack, though, you are guessing that if he hit it with a fist it might have broken its nose completely. Definitely a highblood kid. Likely an indigoblood, with their penchant for ridiculous strength.

"Very rude," remarks the teenager. "Can you walk now, asshole?" With a grumbling reply, the bear gets to its feet. It hesitantly tests its weight on the new splint. Then it nuzzles the kid. This is nothing like the communing you know.

"You don't really commune with them, do you?" notes Karkat. "You aren't exactly in control."

The boy tilts his head, "Commune? Never heard of it. I ask. They answer if they want. Sometimes they ask me. Mostly I fix them and then they are my friends. This one belongs to a little lowblood girl. She asked real nice like. Didn't even call me names. Woulda helped anyway, but it was... nice."

"You take care of all the creatures around here, even the lusii of the other kids," Karkat finally fits the pieces together. "Shit, kid. Oxenfree. How long? How long since your moirail has been gone?"

A stray hiccup betrays how distressed he is, despite the dry eyes and neutral expression, "Too long, Redeye. Much, much too long."

* * * * *

After some awkward verbal soothing from Kanaya, the kid has calmed down a bit. You are frankly surprised at how pleasant the proceedings thus far have gone. Between the lot of you, there are four psychics (counting yourself and Oxenfree) and three of those are highbloods. Most of all, though, you are worried about Serket. Because you know that one wrong move will set off this whole powdercake in no time flat.

"So, can we move on to explaining to our little friend what we want him to do?" questions Terezi.

Karkat winces, "I suppose so. Oxenfree, would you-"

"Not my name," the kid interrupts. You all stare at him.

"Olly Olly _Oxenfree_ ," he states, as if that should explain it. Glancing up at your expressions, he tries again, "They call me Olly. Oxenfree for freein the oxen. Hoofbeasts, ya louts. Hoofbeasts with horns like mine." Huh. Now that he mentions it, his horns do curve forward from the sides like the big bulls in your markets. In fact, you seem to remember a certain mishap a couple years ago...

" _You_!" the Legislacerator gasps. "You are the one that caused the stampede two sweeps ago! Those were hoofbeasts to be sent to the Empire as tribute, you little shit! Do you have _any_ idea how much paperwork I had to turn in for that debacle? Three trolls were trampled to death!"

"No trolls," he corrects her. "Drones. Don't count."

"As blase as you are about the lives of the Empire's enforcement, I don't think you-"

"Cool it, Teresis," you grasp her shoulder. "That is dead and gone now." She goes a bit blue around the nose, but her mouth remains shut. You give her a gentle squeeze to let her know that it is the right move.

"I am Seamstressor Kanaya Maryam," the jadeblood ignores all of you in favor of introducing herself to the nearly-feral teenager. "This is my moirail, Karkat Vantas, and our friend Sollux Captor. The others are adults and thus not ones you normally interact with, I think. I ask that you please consider them as our escorts and not let it dissuade you from taking our job."

"Apollo Ollopa, or Olly for short," he inclines his head, perfectly civil-like. "Oxenfree, Medicutioner, Rabble-rouser, Beast-whisperer, Wanderer, Desert strider, _Dragon rider_." At the last one he wiggles his eyebrows in a very suggestive manner and Terezi practically vibrates with rage. You groan in frustration and massage your forehead as he continues, "They also call me worse. Beast-born, Sun-addled, Doombringer, Drone-slayer, _Feral_ -"

"We get it!" Karkat interrupts. "Yeah, we got it. Apollo, huh? Odd name, but who am I to talk? I'm apparently an unholy union of a carriage and a meowbeast. Anyway. We were wondering if you could do a job for us."

He frowns and pets the sandbear lusus, before swatting its rump, "Go on! Get gone! Your little one is waitin on ya." After she starts to lope away, he turns back to your group and shifts uneasily, "Most trolls just tell me the job, throw the coinage, and leave. I'm not gonna like this one, am I?"

"Okay, to be honest, probably not," admits the redblood freely, much to your dismay, "but you are the only one crazy enough to even try."

At this he grins, "Yeah? Yeah, probably am. Hmm. Tell me the job and I'll consider."

"Well, we kind of have to make sure you can even do the job first," balks Karkat. "I mean, not to be rude, but this is kind of on a need-to-know basis. If you aren't able to help, we'll give you some coin for you time and be on our way."

"So...like a test?" he asks, thumbing his horn slightly. "Whadya want me to do? Call down a roc? Play with some sandworms? Ride a dragon?"

"Please stop baiting the Legislacerator," the nubby-horned troll sighs. "Actually, all we need you to do is remain calm. Our...associate here is going to take a peek inside your thinkpan. All we need is for you to relax and not try to murder anyone. Think you can do that for me?"

"Bluh," he sticks out his tongue with a grimace. "Mindwarpers. Hmm. Alright, but then I set my own terms. I set the price. I set the time."

"Deal!" he turns to Serket, "Think you can work with a highblood kid? He's probably a blue."

"I've managed before," she shrugs. "They're a bit more malleable when they're a little off their rocker, anyway. Alright, kiddo. Let's see how that leaky pan of yours works!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo!! heres your special valentines day update. just realized theres not a whole lotta action in it. ah well. plot demands things. 
> 
> so 2 things of note right now. first is that i now have a tumblr account. krisanderwrites.tumblr.com if you wanna check it out or ask me some questions or whatever. second is ALT^^2 HAS FANART!! i am so excited!! you all have noooo idea!! puttin the links here for all a ya.
> 
> http://phantomhive-khearts.deviantart.com/art/Karkat-Vantas-Alternative-Alternia-429817120?q=favby%3AKrisander%2F46899794&qo=1
> 
> http://phantomhive-khearts.deviantart.com/art/GamKar-Alternative-Alternia-for-Krisander-430425494?q=favby%3AKrisander%2F46899794&qo=0
> 
> http://phantomhive-khearts.deviantart.com/art/Terezi-Pyrope-A-2-430743619?q=sort%3Atime%20gallery%3APhantomhive-KHearts&qo=120


	20. Sollux

"Well... _fuck_ ," Serket sighs, rubbing her head. "This is already a thousand times worse than I thought. It's bad enough you're shithive maggots. You're also an _indigo_? Shit. Just let me..."

"Weird," he wrinkles his nose. "What're you doin? It tickles."

"Shut up!" she hisses back. "I'm just trying to figure out how you do the thing."

"The thing?" he deadpans back. "Yes, such helpful. Much verbose."

"Ugh! The stupid lusus-talking thing! You are so dense!"

You have to admit that this might be the weirdest thing you have ever seen. Apparently if a troll willingly lets the spiderbitch into their head, she does not exactly take over. Or perhaps that has something to do with him being a highblood. Instead, they are both standing there with vaguely pained expressions, talking to each other. You note when she goes again to cradle her head that they are moving in unison. Well, minus the missing limb on the ceruleanblood's end. Extremely weird.

Then the kid starts to get pissed, "Back up. Back up. Get out! That's not for you!"

"No one cares about your mushy moirail memories; calm down," Serket rolls her eye. "No. I said calm. This is the opposite of calm. Fuck you, do what I say!"

Out of nowhere, a fucking sandworm blasts out of the dune right next to all of you, and you all make abortive moves to scatter or draw weapons. It is fifteen rows of sharp teeth and beady little eyes filled with troll-eating frenzy. Hopefully the kid has that thing under control. Or at least Serket does. Whatever.

"THAT IS NOT OKAY AT ALL!" she shrieks at the teenager. He recoils, and suddenly they are out of sync. The worm screeches at your group. You swear profusely.

"Aw, it's okay, little one," the indigoblood is walking towards the enraged monstrosity with his empty arms outstretched. "I'm okay. Not under attack. Just... talkin with some trolls. Who's a good boy? Who's a pretty boy? You are! You are the good boy! It's fine. I'm fine. Everythin is juuuuuuuust fine." He is hugging it now. He is hugging the snout of the sandworm. It is not devouring him immediately. Either he is much better at this than Serket is, or there are some layers of the ability she just does not understand.

"You got that thing, Olly?" the Grand Highblood edges so that he is between most of you and the sandworm. You note that his clubs are drawn and his muscles are tensed to spring into action. Equius also looks about a moment away from leaping towards the thing and demolishing it with nothing but his fists. You are about ninety-two percent sure he could do it, too.

"Hmmm~" the boy hums deeply. "Yeah. He's a good boy. She just scared him. Go on now, lil' grub; ignore all the hub and bub. In the sand, in the loam. Go find your comfy home. When it's time to meet again, I'll call you and your ken. We heard your warnin and Good Mornin. Good Mornin." The creature slowly slides back down into its burrow, eventually disappearing. The kid rubs his head, already looking worse for wear. Looks like his ability is a big energy drain.

" _I_ scared him?" Serket spits. "You think that a fucking _sandworm_ is a 'lil grub' and you think I scared him. You are positively nuts."

"You scared him cause he sensed it!" he whirls around to snarl back at her, gesturing wildly with angry arcs of his arm. "He's just a grub! When you and me are together like that-! He was scared cause I was scared. And I was scared cause you were scared. You suck at this!"

"Do you mean to say that your ability to control the creatures depends on an empathetic link?" Kanaya helpfully supplies.

He frowns, "I... I'm not sure. They _like_ me. All the beasts like me. They always have. They always do. They always will. I ask. I ask and sometimes they listen. Sometimes they ask back. Gog, my head hurts."

"Some warning that a giant sandworm might come bursting out of the dunes would have been nice," huffs Serket. "I think I got what we need from that, though. He has to be in close proximity for maximum effect, mostly because of interference from other nearby creatures. He kind of... senses all the beasts and creatures and how they are feeling. It's... really intense. Definitely emotionally driven. If he is calm and happy, they are calm and happy. If he is upset..."

"We get it," winces Karkat. "Do you think he's capable, though?"

"It's a definite maybe," she frowns, considering. "I think the Emissary will at least _like_ him. I'm sure of that, actually. They will be best fucking chums; we might as well get them diamond-shaped rings now. You know the size she wears? But seriously, we really have to work on stabilizing him first. It's not just a one-way street with him. If, say, we run into an injured whale or something on the way there, he will be a fucking wreck. And I mean wreck. He will be compelled to go help it to stop its pain so that _he_ will stop being in pain."

"So you are saying that he needs to have some way to shield himself from the empathetic links of other creatures until we reach the Rift," Zahhak somehow manages to question without asking.

The ceruleanblood peers at him suspiciously, "Are you suggesting that you know of some way to prevent mental and emotional outside forces from affecting others?"

"I have been working on such a device, yes," he replies. You cannot believe that he is choosing now to reveal this information, especially to Serket of all people. This whole project was created specifically to combat trolls like her that had way too much psychic power. You wish that Equius had kept his mouth shut.

"My head hurts, and you _all_ suck," the kid announces. "If there is no job: First, fuck all of you. This night is now much less awesome. Second, I'm gonna go home. Cause all of you suck."

"Sorry, lil' motherfucker," the Grand Highblood says. "It sounds like we'll be needin you for that job after all. You're coming with us."

"No," Terezi states. "No way in Hell. Also, he was loopy as a loon last time he was at the hive."

"Wait, so do I have the job or not?" he frowns, glancing towards you and Karkat. "Dia said a big one was comin. A job from a redblood kid. She said I had to take that job. I had to take it for her to bring me back my 'rail."

"...fuck," sighs Terezi in defeat. "Sure, kid. You've got yourself a job."

* * * * * 

"I regret this decision more than any other I have ever made," announces Terezi.

"I find it rather cute, once you get past the obvious impropriety," smiles the violetblood softly. "Also, from a psychological standpoint, this is probably the best option. We do not want to make him upset enough to act out, and your lusus seems to have a rather spororific effect on him."

"She's so pretty," he pipes up from a little ways down the roof, where he is tucked up between the dragon's forelimb and body. "And nice. It's awful quiet here; hardly anyone around to hear." A grey hand pops into view to gesture vaguely in a circle. You suppose he must mean the various creatures running around, but all you see at the moment is the giant dragon lusus.

"That would probably be due to the resident lusii keeping the area pretty clear," adds Violet. "They do not take kindly to others intruding into their territory. Speaking of which, I have ocean duty once again. Please forgive my absence, but I must go check to make sure no violetbloods have decided to drop by unannounced." She sweeps off as graceful as ever, leaving you on your own to watch over the not-so-feral kid. Well, you do not really count the Legislacerator. She would be more likely to cull the kid than anything else.

"You're all mostly orphans," he suddenly realizes.

"Whose lusus do you think you are reclining on?" hisses the Legislacerator.

"You've had her over-long, haven't you?" sighs the boy. "You're worried she will leave you for a new kid fresh from pupatin. Don't. She may like me, but she _loves_ you. That's the way it always is with them." There is an awkward silence. "Of course, I'm not even sure I'm going to take the job."

"You're _what_?" you both shriek at once.

He seems completely unperturbed, "Please. I'm not in any shape to work a sensitive job, even I know that. I'm only as good as I'm feelin. I can't just tell 'em to be happy and leave it at that. I gotta _be_ happy first. In case you haven't noticed, my life has been pretty shit lately. Well, more shit than usual. So basically I'm not doing a Goddamn _thing_ for anybody until I get my 'rail back. Dia said to wait for her, so I will wait. Simple as that."

"Who is this Dia?" you interrupt before the Legislacerator does something drastic like behead the kid. "You mentioned that name before, but she's not your moirail..."

Then the kid does something that makes all your hair stand on end. He goddamn clasps his wrists like any superstitious lowblood follower of the Sufferer. It means that he is warding away the bad luck that follows; a sort of penance for the red blood spilt upon Alternian ground. The look in his eyes is haunted when he sits up again to eye you, "Dia, the Ghost Bringer. She's the only one scarier than me."

* * * * *

"So let me get this straight," Equius is rubbing his head as you try on the latest model of your joint invention. "This teenager is refusing the job until his moirail, who is currently being held by drones to be tried for some sort of crime, is returned to him? Does he realize the magnitude of this decision?"

"Probably not," you say. Then you sigh in relief as the blessed silence fills you head where previously there had been only noise. You close your eyes and concentrate, but there is still nothing. You sense rather than feel the highblood's presence by your side. He must be worried. Either that or he just wants to know if you are any closer to a finished product.

"I don't hear a damn thing," you open your eyes. "This is definitely the best one yet, by far. I'm not sure how it will work with those empathy powers, but it should serve as a good mental block."

"We will have to do a test run," frowns the indigoblood as he works out the details. "I wonder if Violet would be amenable to letting us borrow her lusus, since she is so similar to the Emissary. Perhaps if we-"

"Shhh," you pull his doublet until his face is aligned with yours, tasting his mouth with your own. "We can talk shop later."

"Quite right," he responds in a strained voice. Your grin is just short of wicked.

* * * * *

You return to the Grand Highblood's hive with a spring in your step and a shittily-carried tune in your throat. Both those things vanish when you enter the Great Hall. A blurr of something small and grey and black bounces off the wall with enough force to make the torches tremble in their sconces. You realize in the brief moment it has halted that it appears to be none other than Olly. With a snarl that is practically a roar, he picks himself up and lunges towards the other side of the room, where Cerulean is readying his obnoxiously-colored hammer for another swing. You immediately react, catching the kid up in a web of psionics to hold him suspended in midair.

"Whoa!" you call out. "What the fuck is going on here?"

"Put me down!" thrashes the teenager. "Put me down so I can motherfuckin cull them all! I'm in a lousy mood asshole!" As if to punctuate that statement, you hear a mighty roar coming from above. It sounds a lot like a pissed off dragon. You _really_ hope that it is not a pissed off dragon.

"I was gone for like four hours and all the sudden my escort mission goes madder than a hopbeast," you throw an accusatory glance at the guards. "What did you do?"

"Crimson made the mistake of informing Apollo here that his moirail is likely not returning," Violet informs you. "Cerulean jumped in to protect him from attack."

You sigh and rub your forehead, already feeling a headache coming on, "You guys just can't _say_ that kind of shit to an unstable teen psychic, let alone a highblood. Do you have any idea how close to feral he's probably been lately?" With a wave of your hand, you float him closer to you, "Come on now, Olly. They didn't mean anything by it. Calm down before I have to club you in the head or something."

He huffs out a harsh breath of air, "Fuck you up the ass sideways with somethin hard and sandpapery! Let me down this fucking instant and maybe, _maybe_ , I'll leave you alive. My 'rail is fine! She was fine and she is fine and she will motherfucking _be_ fine."

"I hear you, I hear you," you say. "She is fine, but I'm not letting you down until you promise not to kill anyone."

Then something slams into you, and you lose your concentration. A large paw settles on your chest, and you wonder how you could have forgotten Wolfmom. The highblood lands, his eyes large and wild and _orange_. If something does not change quick, he will be in a full-blown bloodrage within moments.

"I want my 'rail," he announces to the room at large. "I want Syl and I want her _this fuckin instant_!" He slams a fist into the table with a resounding crack, and a chunk of it breaks off. "Dia! I know you are here somewhere! DIA! If you don't show up by the time I finish this sentence, I swear I will be addin to your collection of creepy dead people to-"

"I am here," a monotonous voice announces from beside you. When you crane your neck, you can see what looks to be a lowblood girl. She must be lower than even you, with how small she looks. Her skirt is in tatters and her hair is a wild mane that reaches to her knees. However, the pure white of her eyes disturbs you the most. This troll is already dead.

* * * * *

"You really should be calm, Oxenfree," lazily blinks the apparition. "You get so out of hand when you get emotional like this."

"Out of hand?" snarls the teenager, now entirely fixated on the ghost girl. "Out of hand? Do you want to fuckin see out of hand, Dia? I'm in a cullin mood, sister."

Despite his bold words, he flinches when she raises her arm, "Must I discipline you _again_ , Oxenfree?"

"You promised me my 'rail," he dips his head just a bit, to point his horns more squarely at her. "You said I would have her back by now. You said if I took the redblood's job I would get her back. Well here I am, and she's not. Fix it."

"You have not completed the job yet," states the ghost.

"That wasn't the deal!" he screams and takes a lurching step forward.

"Consider it an incentive to finish the job," she shrugs.

The noise that bursts forth from his lips is not entirely something you would consider trollian. In fact, it sounds somewhere between a roaring dragon and a very large tea kettle. He launches himself at the dead troll in a leap that would normally be astounding but right now only seems ridiculous. Through the perfectly solid-looking face, his fist keeps going to strike the stone wall behind her. This does not seem to phase him, as he quickly starts pounding the dent behind her face.

Bits of rubble and splatters of indigo blood go flying as he hisses through clenched fangs, "You promised! You promised she'd be back! You promised! Youpromisedyoupromisedyoupromisedyoupromised!" Eventually words fail him and you hear another resounding roar coming from the roof. The wolf lusus pinning you down snarls viciously and Jade gasps.

The spirit just sighs, "You are so extremely difficult. I knew this would happen eventually. I will call up our mutual friend before you set every beast in the vicinity into a rage-fueled killing spree." Even as soon as she says this, another form starts to materialize beside her. This guy looks to also be a lowblood, albeit one with giant horns. He still has the same blank white eyes of his counterpart, however.

"Oh, uh, hi there," he glances around (you kind of assume, since his head moves, but it is hard to tell when they do not have pupils). "At it again, Olly? I'll, um, maybe just kind of... keep everyone else calm until I figure out what set you off _this_ time." And just like that, Wolfmom is gingerly moving off of you and the sounds of crashing and bellows above you cease.

"Tavros?" a broken voice calls out.

* * * * *

The lowblood ghost boy glances over at the Grand Highblood, who apparently just entered the room along with Karkat and most of the rest of the hive, "Oh, hey Gam. Give me a minute, will you?" He turns back to the indigoblood kid that is about as big as he is. "Olly. Olly. I, uh, need you to maybe tell me what is going on. Come on, Olly. Use your words. You remember words, right?"

"She-she-she," he pounds the wall one last time before giving up and turning to the new spirit. Wild red scleras glow in the dim hall. "She _promised_ , Tav. She promised Syl would be back by now. I want my 'rail!"

"I know. I know you do," he turns to look at the ghost girl. "Aradia? Do you mind me perhaps asking why you have not recovered Sylara yet?"

"Leverage," the monotonous voice responds. "We cannot simply trust that Oxenfree will complete his tasks if we give him his reward prematurely. It is the carrot and the stick, Tavros. Besides, as long as you are around, his temper tantrums are significantly less dangerous. I see no reason not to simply allow events to unfold unhindered."

"You can't mean that you are going to _leave_ her there," hisses the one called Tavros. The expression on Olly's face is what you would imagine someone might wear when they are stabbed in the kidney.

"Why not?" blandly asks the first ghost. "You cannot trust a feral to keep his word. I will fetch Sylara after his usefulness has been expended."

"Feral?" grits out the kid, still standing with one hand splayed on the mauled wall. "Feral? I'll _show_ you feral, you traitorous bitch!"

With a nonchalant wave of her hand, she forms some vaguely troll-like shapes around her, "I grow tired of your impudence, pupa." They shoot towards the kid even as he takes a step backwards, buffeting him in a way that makes you reconsider whether these apparitions are intangible or not. He swings at them a few times, but his attacks sweep through them unnoticed, much like his earlier attempts. They literally beat him down until he sinks to his knees, panting and pissed beyond all reason. You swear you can hear them accusing him of things- of being late, of being weak, of being too small, and (worse of all) of not saving them.

He lifts his head to stare defiantly at the ghost girl, and you do not like the sick shine to his eyes one bit. He opens his mouth again, but what comes out of it is not words. It is a kind of screech, just high-pitched enough to waver on the edge of your hearing. The voices of the doomed, however, sound in your mind loud and clear. You slap your hands over your ears and hiss, pain etched to your very core.

You can hear the others yelling and trying to do something, but Wolfmom suddenly is going on a rampage, snarling and snapping at everything that moves. There is a mighty rumble above you, and people start running every which way. You are pretty sure a dragon just ripped off a chunk of the roof. The huge double doors bust open, and Nepeta's lusus leaps into the room spitting mad. Pounce de Leon jumps onto Cerulean and knocks him to the ground as a couple rocs wing into the room after her. Is that a giant crab monster? You are pretty sure it is.

Through it all, the kid keeps screaming. Indigo mist starts to spray from his mouth. Red eyes are rolled back into his head so that he looks as blind as Terezi. The vague figures are shrinking away from him, seemingly repelled by the sheer volume of his ear-splitting noise. You try for the third time to concentrate enough to smite him with some psionics, but the voices make it impossible to aim.

"Aradia!" the boy ghost shouts over all the other noise. "He's going to pop!"

"Enough!" she yells. "You have made your point, Oxenfree." Just as soon as they had appeared, the figures vanish, taking their awful whispers with them. In their place is a tiny pupa, barely old enough to be out of the caverns. She calmly approaches the teenage blueblood and takes his face into both of her hands. The screaming starts to decrescendo, slowly fading out.

"Bless you, Sol-born," the girl says carefully. The screaming stops completely as his eyes stutter closed. The voices in your head shut off just as quickly. "Bless you, for being the only one who tried." With a sigh, he slumps against the wall, and the little ghost girl disappears completely. You shoot a quick glance around and discover that all the animals have stopped rampaging as well. Pounce is apologetically licking the ceruleanblood guard's arm. His moirail is buried into her own lusus's ruff, murmuring soft reassurances. In all, everyone looks shaken, but somehow okay.

"Aradia," the ghost boy's voice is dripping with disapproval. "You can't do that again. Not unless you mean to kill him."

"He would be decidedly less useful dead," says the girl (and you feel a cold chill race down your spine at that aloof evaluation). "He has improved greatly, though. Even you cannot keep him at bay anymore."

"That is not, um, necessarily a good thing," his mouth twists. "Promise me you'll go get Sylara. Soon."

"I will go as soon as we are done here," relents Aradia. "You have business to attend to." She gestures, and you follow her movement to see the Grand Highblood, his face as pale as the facepaint his conscripts wore.

* * * * *

"Um... hey, Gam," the ghost rubs the back of his neck. "It's, uh, been awhile."

The highblood makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, "Tavros. You're... you're here."

"Well, sort of," shrugs Tavros. "I guess technically I'm halfway here, halfway there. Aradia could probably explain it better than I can. Maybe. She's kind of hard to predict."

You see Karkat sidling up to his matesprit to nudge him forward. The fact that your hilariously tiny friend was able to make the highblood stumble forward a step speaks more for how hard he was trying to hold himself back than anything else. He strides forward, stopping only when he is a foot away. He lifts up a hand, slowly, carefully. It passes through the bull-horned figure's face. A small noise of desolation erupts from his throat.

Karkat is highly distressed, but you doubt anyone but you and Kanaya could tell (he puts up a pretty solid pokerface when he needs to), "Right. I think we should clear out. Come on, people. Let's go."

"Sure," you pull yourself together. "I'm, uh, going to just grab the kid there." You scoop up the indigoblood kid with your psionics and levitate him towards you. He hangs limp in your grasp; hopefully he has passed out for a little while. Everyone starts to gather themselves and move out of the hall.

"Not you two," Aradia interrupts. "Captor and Vantas, if you so please." You freeze, shooting a quick glance at your friend. His face is still unreadable, but he shrugs and stays put.

"Aw, it's okay, Gam," the ghost boy is trying to cheer up the Grand Highblood. "No, really! I get to, uh, help out with a lot of cool stuff now, even though I am dead. Well, actually, more like _because_ I am dead. There's so much to do. Aradia has it all planned out."

"That don't mean I gotta like motherfucking seeing you like this," Makara's face is twisted with pain. "Tavbro, I'm so so-"

"Nope!" the dead lowblood clamps his big paws over his ears. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to hear it, Gam. It's not your fault. What happened was never your fault. It was just the way things had to be. We're all, not maybe but definitely, a part of something bigger- like the little gears inside a timeteller. Does that, um, make sense?"

"You're talking about predetermined destinies," your nose wrinkles. "I never liked the idea that we have no control over anything that happens."

"Just the opposite," corrects the ghost girl. "You have all the control, because you are still alive. If a single one of you strays from the path, utter ruin will follow. I know why you sought out Oxenfree."

"We won't need that motherfucker if you're here," Makara addresses the other ghost.

Tavros is already shaking his head, "No, it's not like that. I really can't, um... I'm not as strong as I was when I was alive. There's a good chance I wouldn't be enough to hold Gl'bgolyb. Also, I tend to, uh, dissipate after awhile."

"It takes energy to maintain a semi-corporeal form," nods Karkat and you wonder how he could have sussed that out so quickly. You were supposed to be the freaky-ability expert. "Aradia here gives you guys energy while she's around, I'm guessing. So the bigger question is why can't you both come with us?"

"We are nothing more than guides," explains Aradia. "We can poke, prod, push, and pull you in the right direction, but ultimately it is up to all of you to make the transition. I have been molding Oxenfree ever since a backup communer was needed. Unfortunately, he is high strung even at the best of times."

"You mean since Tav died," the highblood clarifies.

"Correct," she blinks. "However, it is more accurate to say that I have been doing this since before even I died. This world is full of ghosts, gentlemen, and we are so very tired of the way things have been. If we can transform Alternia into a place with less injustice, perhaps we can move on in peace."

"Wait, so explain to me why this indigo kid even needs to be here?" you ask. "If you have all the many spirits of the doomed at your disposal, and trust me I know _exactly_ how many that is, why do you need him to pacify Gl'bgolyb?"

"Because should she raise her voice above even a whisper during the ceremony, all the lowloods will begin to die," she states. "First the rusts, then the bronze, then the gold... if she should shout, even the highbloods will feel her wrath. We cannot simply command her to make the transition; it has to be made of her own free will. Thus, we require Oxenfree to keep her calm and amicable during the procedure. Meaning that Oxenfree himself has to be somewhat calm and amicable during the procedure. This is the part we have been having trouble with."

"He would be calmer if he had Sylara with him," remarks Tavros.

"Which is precisely why you and I are going to go fetch her," she inclines her head. "After all, she has completed the tasks we asked with aplomb."

"Would these 'tasks' have anything to do with why she is being held for trial?" crimson eyes narrow.

"Of course," admits Aradia. "After all, even the best assassin would get caught after taking out Orphaner Dualscar."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! this is the first part of a double update. i felt bad about not gettin my chapters out in an orderly manner like i had said i would try to do so today i am postin two whole new chapters. go me
> 
> also sollux afisadjfosiadjfalksjlj howdoiwriteyou?? but yay hints at soleq. shhh. its my fic and i will ship all the random crack pairings i want. after all. im the admiral of the rarepair fleet. check out the notes on the next chapter for an important announcement!! ((after you read the next chapter of course))


	21. Gamzee

"My fronds are aboat ready to drop right off," the violetblood collapses into a chair at the table. "You havve _no_ idea the chaos goin on out there."

"We heard about Dualscar," Karkat frowns thoughtfully. "I imagine the power vacuum has been good for you and the Heiress."

"Howw did you- You knoww wwhat. I don't evven wwanna knoww. I'll pretend there's still some semblance of privvacy left in my life," he rubs his forehead. "Good an bad. On one hand, wwe havve a good hook in most of his loyal followwers right noww. On the other, there's a couple a goons wwho think I'm not wworthy of bein his successor. Most a them are bein taken care of as wwe speak."

"You move fast, Prince Ampora," grins you moirail with a certain amount of bloodlust. "I approve."

"Also, there's somethin else," he stalls for a moment, eyes wandering over to the others in the hall. "Is this the kid?"

"Yeah, hang on," Karkat sighs. "Olly, you should probably get over here. This is pertinent to your job."

"Hmm?" the indigoblood kid looks up from where he is walking around with a pupa attached to each of his limbs. He waves the arm Braggs is currently dangling from, "Yeah, yeah. Gimme a sec. Playtime's over, kiddos. Go find someone else to hang off of." You wonder if his empathy powers affect trolls as well, to a certain extent. The pupas certainly took a liking to him quicker than you could sneeze. However, considering your own ire towards him, that might just be coincidental.

"But you'we the biggest," whines the little lowblood.

"Come now, little ones," Kanaya takes over. "Let's go to the kitchen and find some snacks." They quickly detach from their newest playmate and quickly scurry off with the jadeblood, each one intent to make sure they got their fair share.

"Yo," the blueblood drops into a chair across the table, next to your matesprit. "Job stuff?"

"I'vve heard you are a some sort a communer. This true?" clarifies the seadweller prince.

"Close 'nough, I suppose," shrugs Oxenfree. "More like empath."

"Wwell, if you guys still think he can do it..." Ampora trails off for a moment. "The powwer vvacuum isn't the only good thing about my predecessor bein turned into chum. Wwe also havve better access to the Rift." You blink a few times as your mind processes this information.

"Do you mean to say that the Armada will no longer be patrolling the area?" asks Terezi.

"I mean exactly that," confirms the violetblood. "The ships are all scattered. After Dualscar wwas taken out, his fleet had to go to port to hand ovver the assassin to the drones. That leavves all of twwo ships I don't control in the wwaters. The wway to the Rift is currently unguarded."

"Wait, wait, wait!" interrupts Oxenfree. "What rift? Not _the_ Rift, right? You know, the one with the fuckin Emissary livin in it. Cause that would be suicidal."

"Yes, that rift," Karkat's brow furrows. "Is this a problem?"

The kid pales, "You can't be serious." He glances around the table quickly, "Oh, fuck. You are serious. Well... fuck. Dia knew, didn't she? I'm gonna fuckin murder that ghost when I see her next."

"Are you worried that you will not be able to complete the job?" the Legislacerator's eyebrows rise. "I was under the impression that your powers had marked you specifically for this task."

"No, I'm more worried about the fact that we're gonna get wet," snarks the teenager. "Of course I'm worried I won't be able to fuckin affect the Gogdamn _Emissary of the Horrorterrors_! Like. Does she even count as a beast? I mean. Lusii, I can do. But an Outer God? No idea. Plus, I can't even swim!"

"You're ability to swim is pretty much a moot issue," points out Karkat. "We plan on taking a boat. However, the fact that Gl'bgolyb is fundamentally different from any creature you have dealt with before is a legitimate problem. Sollux suggested that we do a test run with Oglomom."

"Wwhat the flyin fuck is an Oglomom?" Ampora questions.

* * * * *

"This helm is designed to block psychic interference," Lord Zahhak explains to the younger indigoblood. "It is untested with emotion-driven abilities such as your own, but perhaps you can put it on after meeting Violet's lusus."

Oxenfree carefully takes the helmet out of his massive hands and turns it this way and that, "Huh. Looks bulky. Hey, cool! You even put the horn slots in the right place!"

"This one was crafted especially for you," nods the highblood adult. "May I implore you once again to take off the jacket?"

"Fuck no!" he exclaims. "The nice jadeblood lady made it exactly the way I asked."

You sigh, wondering how he had convinced Kanaya to craft such an inflammatory article. It was sewn from the tough white hide of a bull lusus, dashing and badass at the same time. Unfortunately, the indigo blue Sol symbol was a literal target painted on his back. As you watch him lope over, you note the way the other trolls part around him; it looks as if they are afraid of contracting his abysmal luck. Perhaps that had been his intention the entire time.

"Good luck, lil' dude," Crimson offers the kid a fist-bump as he walks by. Apparently he was not afraid of superstitions.

With a grin, the indigoblood gently taps his knuckles against the lowblood's, "Ain't ever had any of that kind! But maybe tonight will be the night." He stands in front of your matesprit, taller than him by a couple inches already. "Permission to go say hi to the tentacle monster, Redeye?"

"It's Karkat," he reminds the kid for the tenth time. "Yeah, sure. You have my permission to go. Remember that Violet told her to attack anything that approached, so for the love of all that is good, don't just run up and hug her."

"I'm totally gonna hug her," the grin widens, "just you wait and see!" With that, he is off, striding along the beach as if he is totally at home. All that time in the deserts must have accustomed him to sandwalking, as he seems entirely unhindered. He passes by the violetblood with a quick exchange of pleasantries and then moves out towards the waters.

"You sure he can do this?" Ampora squints into the distance.

"He motherfucking better," you growl.

With a rumble, the waves being to churn. A massive white shape begins to emerge from the water, making every instinct you had scream to either kill it or get the hell out of the area. The kid is talking now, but you cannot quite make out what he is saying. A large white tendril snakes up the sands and makes as if to grab him. With a loud exclamation and a smack, he dances out of the way. Then he is laughing as he races back and forth in front of the monster, dodging and jumping over tentacles. You are slightly annoyed that he seems to be having so much fun doing the exact opposite of calming her down.

When he fucking pirouettes further away from the ocean like the biggest asshole of a ballerina in existence, Oglomom gives out a roar and proceeds to drag herself out onto the beach. Around you, everyone starts to edge backwards a few steps. He leads her onward, walking backwards and crooning at her until her entire length is out of the water. You realize what he is doing about a moment after he starts to dart forward again.

"Retarded motherfucking moron!" you snarl, as he slips past the barrage of tentacles to approach the body of the monster.

Beside you, Karkat lowers his head to his hand, "I specifically told him _not_ to do that." After reaching the lusus proper, he reached his arms as wide as they would go and grabbed onto her. He is hugging it out. A monster almost the size of your hive and he is attempting to pacify it with hugs. You are pretty sure Oglomom is going to smash him into a blue pulp. In fact, the tendrils turn and suddenly he is lost from view as they wrap around him.

All of you wait for a few moments.

Then you wait a little more.

Then, "Is she _hugging him back_?"

Even from this distance, you can hear Violet sigh before she trudges forward. After a brief moment, the tentacles move to reveal that the indigoblood is indeed in one piece. He appears to be clinging to one of the tentacles like a bear cub climbing a tree. Oglomom waggles the appendage, but he does not seem to be letting go. Assuming that your Subjuggulator is calling off her lusus, you decide to lope on over to see what exactly is going on.

"- be most improper, not to mention against the hive rules," Violet is concluding. She glances over at you as you approach, "Ah, Grand Highblood. I am attempting to explain to Oglomom why I cannot allow her to keep the 'little blue no-gills.' Although most violetbloods do take prisoners of battle as servants, as a Subjuggulator any and all spoils I take technically go to you as tribute. She is most unpleased with this summary."

"She's nice," the kid is rubbing his cheek against the appendage he is hanging on to. "You have a great lusus. She is such fun to play with! Did you see when I vaulted her tentacle?" A low grumble responds and he about squeals with delight.

"No, we are _not_ keeping him," warns the violetblood. "What would you even do with him while you are underwater?"

"I take it that you made a new friend, Olly?" Karkat walks up with his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah!" he nods excitedly. "She's a little bit hard to read, but she's nice. I knew she would be. She was pullin her punches. If she really had wanted to hit me, she could have."

"Well, why don't we try out that fancy new hat that Zahhak made you?" suggests you matesprit.

"Awww," whines the kid, but he slides down the tentacle until his feet hit the sand. "Do I have to?"

"Yeah, you do," snorts Karkat as he picks up and hands over the discarded helmet. "We have to see if it will even work."

"Fiiiine," he gives in, taking the helm. He brushes off some sand and carefully pulls it on.

* * * * *

The instant the helm is covering the kid's head, the lusus beside all of you gives a mighty shudder. A tentacle whips forward and slams into the three of you, sending the two smaller trolls flying. You grunt and dig in your heels, refusing to budge much farther than a yard. Violet is immediately attempting to placate her guardian, speaking to her in a calm, authoritative voice. As soon as Oxenfree is sitting upright, he rips the helmet from his head and hurls it as far away as he can. He sucks in a deep breath, eyes wild, and proceeds to do the saddest thing you have ever seen.

He curls up into himself, a little ball of grey and lusus white, and hiccups.

Karkat is dusting himself off as he gets up, "No, hey, Olly. It's okay, bud. You did good."

"N-*hic*never hurt *hic* me before," the kid shudders. "T-T-*hic* Trolls, yeah. *hic* Never *hic* n-n-never one of *hic* one of my *hic* my _friends_!" The last word is almost a wail, despondent and confused. Oglomom gives a guttural sort of noise that somehow sounds sad.

"Hey, no, it's okay," your matesprit continues to try to soothe the indigoblood. "It's fine, see? We won't make you wear the helmet again anytime soon." He looks around almost frantically, "Nepeta!"

"Yeah, Karkitty?" the little oliveblood carefully approaches the two of them.

"Can you go fetch Pounce?" he asks. "I know we said to keep the beach clear of lusii, but I think he needs something small and fluffy to play with for a little while. Or at least smaller and fluffier than Oglomom or any of the random ocean creatures swimming around nearby."

"Y-yeah!" she nods after glancing down at the wreck of a troll. "I'll be fast as can be!"

As she scampers off, Zahhak approaches, "I suppose that this means the experiment was technically a success."

Karkat punches him square in the gut, " _Fuck_! Even your abs are rocks, you asshole! You didn't tell him that it was going to go both ways, did you? That it would cut off his powers from _them_." He shakes out his fist, still glaring at the hulking blueblood.

"Oh," he frowns as he guiltily peeks down at the younger blueblood. "I did not realize that he would not have surmised that."

"Well, that looked good enough for me," Ampora wanders over. "Up until she tried to crush all of you, anywway."

"Ugh!" groans Karkat. "You are all unfeeling shittards and I'm now putting myself in charge of the kid until this whole thing is done. I would prefer that we don't accidentally kill or mentally scar him. Especially _before_ the fucking transfer!"

* * * * *

"I don't like boats," balks the kid.

"We are going to the middle of the fucking ocean, Olly," sighs Karkat. "We don't really have much of a choice, here."

"What about the nice Dragon Lady?" he perks up at this idea. "Can't she just fly me out there?"

"No!" you, Terezi, and Karkat all snap at once.

Your matesprit takes a deep breath and tries again, "You can play with Pyralspite when we get back, okay? But since you have to wear the helmet until we get out there, it's really not a great idea for you to be trying to ride the angry dragon lusus."

"Look, wwe'vve got to movve out noww if wwe wwant to take advvantage of the situation," Ampora stomps up, already high-strung. "Vviolet and Fef are gettin anxious, so wwhatevver landdwwellers are comin need to get on board."

The little indigoblood whines wordlessly, obviously not wanting to move. He fiddles with the helmet in his hands. The slash of his mouth is making unpleasant angles as he weighs his options. You debate how badly it would affect his mood if you just picked him up and carried him on board. Or clubbed him over the head. Being unconscious would probably make his powers fizzle out until you reached the Rift.

"Here, lil' man," Crimson steps forward and slips the helm out of Oxenfree's hands. "I'm not a big fan of boats, either. How about this? I'll stick with you the whole way there and we can slam some sick rhymes." He gently tugs the helmet onto the kid's head, despite having to stand on his toes to reach.

"Yeah?" the crooked grin appears.

"Yeah," nods the redblood. "Come on. We can probably do a couple verses before we even get halfway there." When he turns and strides towards the gangplank, the kid trots to keep even with him.

Terezi whistles, "He certainly knows how to handle stubborn highbloods. So, who are we leaving in charge?"

"You, Teresis," you place your hands in your pockets. "I know you motherfucking want to come, but I'd rather you stayed here and kept everyone from burnin the hive down. Besides, the fewer of us landlubbers, the better. There's no motherfuckin guarantee the ship is gonna stay afloat."

Her face goes dark, "Fine. I can stay and babysit the goons, but I request Cerulean and Jade remain behind then."

"Aw, what?" Cerulean whines. "No way! We want to go with Violet!"

"She already has her moirail, motherfuckers," you remind them. "She will be fine. I agree. You two are staying. Me and Karkat will keep them out of motherfuckin trouble, too. Besides, the whole motherfuckin Armada is docked. I'd rather leave most of you here in case something motherfucking awful goes down."

They grumble, but ultimately agree with your judgement. You and Karkat bid your farewells to your moirails and then board the vessel. The indigoblood kid is leaning heavily on the starboard railing, the lowblood with the shades leaning casually next to him. Since they appear to be calm, you turn your attention to the Heiress and your Subjuggulator deep in discussion. You decide to approach them, seeing if you can glean anything about this mysterious transfer process.

"-be fairly calm, since I'm here," the Heiress is saying. "After you begin, though..."

"I know," Violet smiles slightly. "Once the transition begins, it is up to me and Apollo. Have faith, Heiress. These odd are the best we could have possibly hoped for- better, even!"

"Come on, you twwo," growls Ampora. "You aren't on a luxury cruise, landlubbers. Wwe booted the sailors once wwe hit the docks, since this is all hush-hush. So you twwo assholes are helpin me sail this beauty."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Karkat flatly states.

"Sorry, chum," grins the prince sadistically, "but you twwo are the only ones wwith any sailin experience. And by Gog, I'm not evven gonna _touch_ that blueblood kid wwith a ten-foot pole. And the other redblood is the one keepin him passivve-like. So hop to it!"

* * * * *

"We're getting close now, buoys!" calls out Feferi from her perch on the mast. "Better batten down the hatches!"

You glance up from where you are tying off some rope, then make a quick evaluation of the deck. The only thing you have left to tie down would be the crew members. With two coils of rope, you wander over to the only two other landdwellers on board. The blueblood kid is staring out at the sea, but the lowblood is facing you with his back to the railing. You hand him the length of rope and he starts to tie it around his waist while still talking.

"Right, so keep goin with the flow," Crimson is saying. "You're not doing half bad right now."

The indigo's head bobs as he leans on the railing, "Hey da, if you could see me now, arms spread wide on the starboard bow. Gonna fly this boat to the moons somehow. Like holy Signless, anything is possible. Yeah, never thought I'd be on a boat! It's a big blue watery road. Poseidon~! Look at me, oh! Never thought I'd see the day, when a big boat comin my way. Believe me when I say, I fucked a mermaid."

"Pfffff," the redblood starts to snicker. "Really? A mermaid? Wow. Just...wow. Needs more work, man."

"No, seriously," the kid turns to look at the two of you. "Why is there another boat?"

* * * * *

"Hard to port!" yells out Ampora as he muscles the wheel. "Gam, get your ass to those cannons an start loadin! Kar, get dowwn off the mast before they see you! Lowwbloods get outta sight! Fef, the flags!"

"I got them, you shelly thing," she calls back. "The colors are flying high and true."

"It looks like one of Admiral Beetor's," Violet reports. "Is he not one of the more stalwart followers of the Empress?"

"Beetor's better than Dritin," he replies. "I wwas hopin wwe wwouldn't be seen so close to the Rift, but hopefully he wwill just assume wwe are patrollin the area."

Even as you load a cannonball, you can hear on the other side of the deck the kid going, "And even after all my logic and my theory, I add a 'Motherfucker' so you ignorant bitches can hear me. Crew remember take notes, as I sow my rap oats, and for you biting zealots, here's a quote."

"Shut him up, Crimson!" barks the Prince of the Waves. "Wwe might have to face a fuckin pontoon an I don't wwant the Admiral to hear that shitbag rattle off rhymes."

"Quick now, cause you running out of luck-a," the kid continues, heedless of the hushing the lowblood is giving him. "Playing Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucka. While you munchin at your luncheon, I'll be plannin your assassination, then hit you like the Dutchman." Finally Crimson shuts him up by clapping a hand over his mouth.

"Wwait, did he just say Dutchman?" Ampora turns. "Dutchman! Of course! Swweet Jegus, if wwe make this wwork I wwill kiss you right on the mouth!"

The kid manages to free his mouth long enough to add, "I'm goin off on the deep end. I find myself face to face with myself while I'm sleepin." He pauses strangely, as if he has lost the flow, "Hmm. You can cry but you'll still die, there'll be no tears in the end. No kissin, fishface."

"Got it, freak," he laughs. "I knoww wwhat the Dutchman is. Noww shut the fuck up!" With a grunt, the kid sits down abruptly, apparently satisfied.

"What the fuck is a Dutchman?" asks Karkat as his own boots finally hit the deck.

"It's the bluff of all bluffs, noww get outta sight!" snaps Ampora. "Wwe're about to havve company." He goes and huddles on the other side of the deck next to the two landdwellers, and you are struck again with just how _tiny_ all of them are. At least the blueblood had the excuse of youth!

"Ahoy, vvessel of the Heiress!" yells a voice on the much closer ship. Ampora motions for you and you take the helm as he walks over to chat with the herald.

"Ahoy, Admiral Beetor!" he calls out. "Wwhat are you doin in these parts of the wwaters?"

"Prince Ampora?" the voice returns. "Wwhat a surprise to see you here! Wwhat business do you havve here?"

"I havve the only business," snaps Ampora. "I am takin ovver Dualscar's responsibilities here. I ask again, wwhat are you doin in these parts?" The threat in his voice is nowhere near subtle.

"Just making a routine patrol, my Prince," the troll sounds much more concerned as he answers. "Wwe mean no intrusion. Please alloww us to givve you our sincere apologies and, with your permission, wwe shall leave the area post-haste."

"You apologies are not needed," huffs the violetblood. "Just consider this your only wwarnin."

After some (quite frankly embarrassing) groveling, the other voice says farewell and the ship glides back out of range. You all remain in place until it has vanished in the horizon. Then you throw back your head and crow with laughter. The little blueblood kid is chuckling quietly to himself, and Ampora is the very picture of smug. However, everyone else looks various shades of confused.

"Howw the fuck did you evven knoww about the Dutchman?" the prince asks the teenager.

He shrugs, "Ain't nothin for me, to know things others see. Even on the sea, there's a key, a sort of glee, in knowin the busy bee."

"He means that he knows someone that was there," translates Crimson. "Don't you?"

"I don't just help the lowblood kids," shrugs Oxenfree, thankfully done with slam poetry for the moment. "Dutchman had an apprentice on board when that happened."

"Wwhale, shit," he rubs his chin. "Nevver wwoulda thought aboat that. The Dutchman wwas a ruse. He's a pirate knowwn for ruses, but the best one has gotta be wwhen he came across a drone vvessel and proceeded to impersonate the Imperial Guard. He somehoww managed to pull it off, but the idea is that you alwways wwant to pretend to be one rung abovve your enemy. An apprentice, huh?"

"His lusus got shot," the kid explains. "Harpoon in his flank. Had to patch him up and hang out on the beach for a few weeks. Sucked major ass. You try to kiss me and I'll punch your lights out."

* * * * *

"Alright, are we ready?" Feferi asks. "And I mean reely, reeeeeeeeeeeely ready?"

"As ready as we are gonna mo- uh, get," you reply. "Soon as you bring her up, Oxenfree will take the helmet off."

"And then I make friends with the Emissary," he concludes.

"Y-yeah," the Heiress looks inexplicably sad about this. "Yeah, you make reel good friends with her. I'd like that. Okay, I'm off!" With a graceful leap over the railing, she is gone. The little blueblood leans over to watch her disappear into the depths. He babbles excitedly, pointing at things you cannot see until Crimson pulls him back onto the deck proper by his belt.

"No reason to be nervous, lil' man," he checks to make sure the rope around the kid's waist is secure one last time. "I'll be right here with you the whole time. So will Karkat. Right, sharkpailer?"

"Fuck a duck," snaps your matesprit. "But, uh, yeah. I'll be right here with you, Olly."

The indigoblood takes a deep breath, "Olly Olly Oxenfree, that's me, fine as can be. Learned to love from my palemate, to rhyme from the ghost I don't hate. Learned to protect from the one that I do, an learned to fight from fuckers like you."

"Shit here they come already," Karkat is leaning over the rail himself now. "Get ready, Olly."

"I'm ready as can be," he sighs, reaching up for the helm. Something massive begins to breach the water, and he drops the helmet onto the wooden boards. "Let the games begin!"

* * * * *

"Oh," the kid's eyes are huge, staring at something far away. "She's so _old_. And sad. She's so very, very sad."

"No, Olly," the lowblood takes his face gently and turns it away from the massive white shape slowly emerging from the ocean. "This is transmitting time; not receiving time. You wanna make her happy, right?" The kid blinks twice and then slowly nods. "Good kid. Now to make her happy, you gotta _be_ happy, remember?"

"Think of things that make you happy," agrees Karkat. "Think of warm desert sands and badass coats. Think happy meowbeast wrigglers doing cute things with yarn." You motion for Violet to get a move on before turning back to the little knot of trolls trying to keep the whole lynchpin of this operation functional.

A little grin begins to form, "Y-yeah. I can do that. Happy as can be." He closes his eyes and the smile immediately starts to fade, "It feels really different. She's not happy about something, but I dunno what. It's like there's words there. Words I don't know yet or ones that don't make sense. I... I think she's tryin to talk to me." His eyes fly open and he wrenches away from Crimson's grasp.

"Shit!" exclaims Eridan, and you turn to see that a tentacle has slithered on board. Even as he dances out of the way, the little blueblood takes a step towards it, entranced. Both the redbloods reach out to gently hold him back, and to your surprise he does not attack them. Instead he just strains forward, completely disregarding them.

"She's callin me," he whispers, eyes still big and sightless. "Never had one ask so loud. She's callin me and I gotta answer."

The large tendril suddenly darts towards all of you, and you all retreat backwards. Everyone except Oxenfree, that is. The kid lifts his arms welcomingly and stumbles into its embrace. It wraps around him and for a terrible moment you think that it might have guessed your plan and crush him. Instead, his eyes roll back in his head and he opens his mouth.

"Welcome, friends of Feferi," the voice sounds nothing like what you've heard of the blueblood thus far. "I would say that it is good to see all of you, but I know why you are here. I do thank you for bringing this one, as it makes communication much easier. If I were to speak with my own mouth, there could be dire consequences."

"...Gl'bgolyb?" Karkat's voice sounds incredulous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit is goin down now. poor olly. poor karkat. poor everyone. 
> 
> in other news 'fuck a duck' might just be my favorite curse right now. also the raps olly uses throughout the story are modified versions of raps i like and all that. some of the raps are my own creation too but there are fewer of those. just a heads up
> 
> hey guys!! i would like to point you all to my tumblr account krisanderwrites.tumblr.com for a very important reason- feedback. id love to hear from you guys about what you think of the stories or questions you might have or just to say hi. even better- i will be askin you guys some questions. namely whether you all would be interested in certain fic ideas i have or what pairings you would like to see ((for example black erikar is really popular in this fic but my moirail thinks black davekar is more hilarious)). 
> 
> i swear thats the last shameless plug i will have for my tumblr. i just wanted to give everyone an opportunity to pitch in when i start posting questions ((the first of which will go up today))


	22. Karkat

"It appears that your companion has already started the incantation," the same monotonous voice is used to reply to you, and you shudder. "I am most saddened by this, as it will be the forty-second time a violetblood has attempted the transfer. The result has always been the same."  
  
"Well, none of those violetbloods were my moirail," Crimson bravely announces. "If anyone can do it- she can."  
  
"We shall see," responds not-Olly ominously. "I am afraid I must leave you now, as the transfer attempt will take up most of my attention. Please give your moirail my regards, should she survive opening the channel to the Outer Gods." Then the tendril is loosening its hold and sliding away, leaving the kid to fall limply to the deck.  
  
"Wwhat noww?" Ampora stares at you as if you have the answers.   
  
"What do you mean, what now?" you grouse, already trying to check the indigoblood's pulse. He appears to be perfectly fine, except for having passed out after used as a mouthpiece for a fucking Horrorterror.  
  
"I mean she knowws wwhat wwe are doin here, so that's probably not a good sign," snarls the violetblood.   
  
"You told us that Violet couldn't stop the process once she had begun," you shrug. "Someone with muscles get over here and help me either wake him up or get him below decks. I'm not sure I want that thing talking to us again."  
  
"My pleasure," Gamzee walks up. He crouches down and proceeds to slam the kid's head into the wooden board, "Get the fuck up, motherfucker. You're job's not nearly close to done."  
  
"Ack!" the blueblood thrashes until your matesprit releases him. He sits up, rubbing his temple. "Fuck! What did she just-? I think I just fuckin saw my ancestor. Cheesy bright light at the end of the tunnel and everythin. What kind of bullshit monster has psychic powers?"  
  
"Apparently ones that serve as Emissaries," you offer a hand to help him up. "If it helps, she said she was going to be too busy to talk to us for awhile."  
  
"Okay," he frowns as he accepts your hand. "Not cool, but I can deal with that. As long as she keeps her mits off, I can do my happy-projection thing. Where was I? Right. Meowbeast wrigglers with yarn. Got it." Although he looks a little shaken, he turns to face the large white mass once again. You would commend him for his bravery if you were not worried it would break his concentration.  
  
"After Vviolet gets done with the incantation, she'll have opened the channel," reminds Ampora. "After that... it's Gl'bgolyb's choice to either try an transfer her position or fight to keep it. Mostly wwe wwant the happy-sendin to be durin that time."  
  
"We know. Just let the kid do his thing. It's not like starting it now is going to hurt anything. Maybe putting her in a good mood will sway her to our side. It's not like we have anything better to do for the next thirty minutes or so."  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"Oh, fuck!" whispers Crimson. You glance up to see what he is staring at and see the dark, oily beam. It reaches down through the clouds and continues on towards his moirail. Upon reaching the seadweller, it envelops her completely, obscuring her from view. The white tentacles that had been lazily waving around begin to thrash.  
  
"Shit!" you exclaim. "Guys, I think the incantation's over!"   
  
Beside you, the blueblood's jaw is clenched and he is muttering under his breath, "Wriggler meowbeasts and howlbeasts and quackbeasts and hopbeasts. Warm sand 'tween my toes. Gettin a new pair of axes an shinin them up bright." You realize that he is coming up with a list of things that make him happy, trying his best to keep the angry Horrorterror at bay. "Nappin with the roc in its nest. Slammin poetry with Tav. Ridin on the nice Dragon Lady. Playin with the little Subjuggulator pupas. Rippin a drone's head clean off."  
  
You catch a glimpse of Violet through all the chaos and see that her eyes are shining a bright white. That does not seem like a good thing. A tentacle raises high above all of you and then quickly drops down towards the ship. You realize that it is heading straight for Crimson and Olly about the same time everyone else does. The slightly-larger blueblood kid suddenly picks up the lowblood and hurls him just before the large limb slams into the deck. The whole ship rocks beneath the blow.  
  
"Fuck!" you scream. "Olly!"  
  
The tentacle shifts, and then slowly begins to lift. The smear of indigo colored blood on its underside makes you wince. Splintered boards and debris rain down briefly as the appendage moves back towards the waters. As soon as the cost is clear, Crimson flashsteps back to the kid's side. He places his head on the teenager's breast and then starts to swear up a storm as he begins to compress his chest.  
  
By the time you get there, the kid is coughing up some indigo phlegm. He definitely looks worse for the wear now. Quite frankly, you are surprised that his chest was not caved in from that blow. Thank Gog he's a highblood. You help Crimson assess his limbs and ribs for broken bones before pulling him back to his feet. Each of you are under one of his arms, and his head hangs down.  
  
"You okay, Olly?" you ask. "You've got to keep going."  
  
A shaky hand raises so that he can use the back of it to wipe the blood from his lips, "Gimme a sec."  
  
"We don't got a sec, kiddo," Crimson informs him. "Violet's going grimdark and the Horrorterror almost capsized the fucking ship. You have to pull yourself together."  
  
His grey eyes close, "Tryin...just hurts. So tired." His hand falls limply. You hope that he does not have some sort of internal bleeding or organ damage. You are not even sure how you would check or treat that kind of injury. You shoot Crimson a worried glance around the kid and you can see the fear in his eyes. His shades must have fallen off when Olly threw him.  
  
Far off, you hear a voice call, "Olly Olly Oxenfree~!"  
  
The kid's ear twitches, "...Syl?"  
  
"Olly Olly Oxenfree~!" the voice yells again.   
  
He sucks in a pained breath, "OLLY OLLY, THAT'S ME!" His head raises, and you like the look in his eyes much better this time. He takes a hesitant step forward. When his legs support his weight, he takes another. Then he lifts his arms away from you, and steps up to the now-ruined railing, "Round two, motherfucker!"  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
As soon as the indigoblood announces his intention to keep fighting, a form starts to flicker into existence beside him. Although it is quite frankly disturbing to watch someone literally spring into visibility right in front of you, it is enheartening to see those ridiculously sized horns.   
  
"Hold strong, Olly," he places a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Backup is here."  
  
"Fuck backup," the kid grits out. "I've got this now."  
  
"Really?" the ghost manages to deadpan. "Looked to me like you, maybe, could use the help."  
  
"I heard her," grins Olly. "I heard her, Tav. I've got my 'rail back. I don't need nothin but that. She's my happy thought."  
  
"I know, Olly," Tavros smiles back (perhaps a little sadly). "That's why she's on her way. Let's try to perhaps finish this up before she gets here."  
  
"Can do," nods the teenager as he eyes one of the nearby tentacles in a way that would make you nervous if it was directed at you. "You want happy? I'll show you motherfuckin rapture, Gl'bgolyb. Pale rapture. You're gonna know what it's like to love so completely and platonically that you will despair."   
  
He strides forwards, calmer than you have probably ever seen him before, "Olly Olly Oxenfree, that's me, fine as can be. Learned to love from my palemate, to rhyme from the ghost I don't hate. Learned to protect from the one that I do, an _you're gonna love them, too_!" He captures the appendage in a bear hug, still as serene as if he were calming a small pupa instead of the Rift's Carbuncle.   
  
Around you, all the tendrils start to still. They stop completely before starting to gently return to the waves. If you could guess the emotional and/or mental state of a monster by only seeing some of its limbs, you would say that it is in shock. The oily aura is still descending down towards Violet, so you take a few steps closer to the blueblood. You are surprised to hear him whispering.  
  
"-absolutely lovely and stunnin and wonderful," he is saying. "I may be born under the sun but she's the moons of my sky. And Tav! He taught me how to hear their voices- how to help them. And all those little pupas I've helped. Every single one of them is precious. Hell, even Dia! And my good bud Crim you just tried to take out. Then there's Kar. Do you not see? He's the motherfuckin Sufferer's progeny. He's the nicest troll you ever could meet. 'cept maybe Syl."  
  
You look over to see what everyone else is doing. Gamzee and Ampora appear to be trying to clear the deck of the worse of the rubble, casting worried glances towards the waters. Crimson's gaze is unwavering as he waits to see whether his moirail will prevail in her endeavor. You cannot see Violet or Feferi at the moment, and you can only hope that means that everything is going according to plan. The spirit of Tavros looks to be in deep concentration. When your gaze returns to Olly, you panic to see the tentacle has wrapped around him again.   
  
"I see your love runs deep, young one," the bland voice comments. "I concede that you have a valid point, but if I make a single sound as I die, the redblood will go first. Then the lowbloods, and then the greens. You must know this, young one."  
  
"Then," his grip tightens as his normal tone returns. "Then you will just have to use my voice like you been doin. I'll scream for you, Great Mother. It's not like I particularly thought this part would be pleasant. I feel what you feel."  
  
"I apologize in advance, then. I do not believe that this will be any form of pleasant," the monotonous voice concedes. "I yield to your band. May your new Emissary prove less detrimental to your kind." There is a mighty shudder, as if the very world were shaking. Then the kid starts to scream.   
  
This is not the high-pitched screech of rage from before, nor do you imagine any animals coming to attack you. No, this is the scream of utter agony. Even within the tendril's tight grasp, his back arches and limbs seize. You can see in the periphery everyone stopping what they are doing to look at the little indigoblood. As the agonizing seconds go by, he starts to bleed from every orifice. Indigo spittle erupts from his lips, pours from his nose, leaks from his eyes and ears. You are quite certain that something is about to blow.  
  
"Olly!" a voice calls out.   
  
You glance up just in time to see a large rock with a girl perched upon it come hurtling towards the ship. She jumps as it passes harmlessly overhead, landing on the deck. Her downward-curving horns frame her face nicely, despite the panicked expression it is currently sporting. Next to her, the ghost girl snaps into existence. You realize that this must be Olly's moirail, Syl, and wish that the circumstances were better.  
  
"Olly!" she rushes towards the still screaming indigoblood. "Olly, can you hear me?"  
  
The screaming tapers off as the teenager has to take in more air to breathe, "...S-Syl?"  
  
"Yes, it's me," she starts to wipe blood from her moirail's face. "What are you doing, Olly? You aren't allowed to leave me, yet."  
  
"She hurts," the kid gasps out, blanching. "It's almost over."  
  
You whirl around and find that what he says is true. Almost all of the tendrils are limply floating in the water, and the darkness around the seadweller has begun to contract. Either you have all succeeded, or this is a very elaborate ruse. You turn back to see the smaller landweller sizing up the tendril.  
  
"I do believe that you need to release my moirail now, Gl'bgolyb," she says. "He has suffered with you enough." Much to your surprise, the tentacle does indeed begin to loosen. It limply falls to the wooden boards and then begins to slowly slide off the ship. The blueblood kid collapses into his quadrantmate's waiting arms. You have a feeling that (this time) he will not be getting back up anytime soon.  
  
"So," a voice behind you primly states, "that went over rather well, all things considered."  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
The journey back to land was filled with moirails comforting each other. Sylara had yet to let go of Olly, and you did not foresee her doing so anytime in the near future. Ampora sat and patted the Heiress as she mourned the death of her lusus (even if it was a monster, it did raise her). Crimson, of course, was mostly just relieved that his moirail had survived the whole ordeal without becoming an incoherent being of destruction. They all paired off, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without Kanya nearby.  
  
"It still hasn't motherfucking sunk in yet," your matesprit joins you. "She actually did it. Well, I guess they both did."  
  
"Give the kid some credit. Without him, we'd probably be facing a bunch of dead lowbloods when we got back," you point out. "But seriously, that shit at the end... I can't imagine what that felt like for him. I thought for sure he was a goner. What are we even going to do with the two of them?"  
  
"I suppose we should let them stay at the hive," muses Gamzee. "At least until they motherfucking heal up."  
  
"Do you think we could convince them to join the cause?" you ask. "I mean, it seems a bit cruel to ask any more from them, after everything they've done."  
  
"We'll worry about that when it comes to that, motherfucker," the highblood shrugs. "Their abilities are motherfuckin nice, but I was never one who liked conscription. If they want to stay, they can stay. Terezi might motherfucking cull the blueblood, though. She holds a grudge more than anybody else I know."  
  
You grimace, "True. I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it."  
  
"Don't like bridges," a voice behind you grates, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin. You whirl around to see none other than Olly being supported by his moirail. "Yo. I recall bein able to name my price for this stupid job."  
  
"Yeah, those were the terms," you nod. "I mean, we might have to do some bartering if you want something really ridiculous, but-"  
  
He waves a hand in dismissal, "Nothin much. A place to stay for a few nights and whatever coinage Syl asks for. She keeps the books anyway."  
  
"You want me to ask the Sufferer's get for money?" the girl looks scandalized. "You raging atheist. How can you suggest such a thing?"  
  
"Ugh," he rolls his eyes. "You and your Iron Bars. Then I'll request, say, ten gold coins and a ride on Pyralspite. After all, I got my 'rail back, so that's pretty good. Just need some coinage to cover all those jobs that are now probably never gettin done. And the ride cause it's 'motherfuckin bitchtits.'"  
  
"What is a Pyralspite?" frowns Syl.  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"Come on," whines the blueblood, "just once more."  
  
"For the last time, I am not playing any more rhyming games with you," sighs his moirail. "Can you not find something better to do with your time?"  
  
"But Syyyyl," he rolls over where he has been lounging on a fabric pile. You and your own moirail are doing your best to ignore him, since she and the other teenager are doing some exemplary sewing. At this rate, every single troll under the Grand Highblood's command will have a whole new set of clothes. "I'm so boooooooored."  
  
"You have patience aplenty when dealing with your various beasts," chides Syl. "I have also seen you outwait a target holed up in an unreachable place for three weeks. I do not understand this sudden inability to behave; it has only been two nights."  
  
"Two nights a complete and utter boredom," he corrects her. "Your jobs may pay more, but I've always had _somethin_ to do. You sure you don't need me to go knock in some heads, Redeye?"  
  
"It's Karkat or Vantas, you twit," you grouse. "And no. There's no errand I would send a half-baked teenager with a penchant for destroying things to go do. You two could always leave, if you wanted. I know Terezi's been at your throat since we got back."  
  
"I shall leave when there is reason for us to do so," sniffs his moirail. "Quite frankly I consider helping out the Sufferer's descendant more important than skulking off to the desert until the next job shows up."  
  
"Skulk," Olly wrinkles his nose. "You and your weird words. Skulk. Let's see. Skulk, hulk, bulk... damn that's a hard one."  
  
"Then perhaps you are done rhyming," Kanaya points out as she bites off a thread. "Are you quite certain that you will not come stand over here so I may pin some fabrics."  
  
"Fuck no!" he exclaims, turning to burrow into the fabrics. "'Sides, unless you're gonna have an army of teenagers there's no point in usin me. Get one of your mercs _skulking_ round outside."  
  
"I would like to point out here that you yourself are a mercenary," she raises her eyebrows. "In fact, you are probably one of the more accomplished mercenaries at our disposal. Also, please refrain from crumpling up my fabrics any more than you already have or I will force you to iron them out."  
  
"That says a lot more bout your fuckin pet mercs than it does me," responds the teenager.   
  
"You have to admit that he's got a point there, Kan," you frown. "Just because-"  
  
"Olly Olly Oxenfree~!" someone calls from outside.   
  
"Hell fucking yeah!" he leaps from the pile in an explosion of fabrics. "HEY! OLLY OLLY THAT'S ME! Fuck yes a job!" He's leaning out the window so far that you cannot see past his waist. "Yo! Jardel! Long time no see. What's up?"  
  
"You working, Olly?" the voice calls back. "Got some kids looking for you, but they won't come within a mile of this place."  
  
"Fuck yeah I'm workin! Gimme two clicks!" he ducks back into the room. "Syl?"   
  
"I know," she sighs while setting aside the tunic she was almost finished with, "you want me as backup. Please forgive me for not completing this task, Lady Maryam. It appears that we are back in business."  
  
"YES!" crows the boy as he turns back to the window. "We're on it, Del! Be right there!" You realize what he is doing about a moment too late to do anything about it. He vaults the windowsill and drops the three stories to the sands below.   
  
"Hopefully this job requires a lot of physical labor," dryly remarks Syl as she walks over the window to peer down. "You alright, dearest?"  
  
"I'm fine!" he calls back. "Landin was soft as sand can be."  
  
"Then I expect you to catch me," she informs him as she follows suit. From the sound of laughter below, you assume that the blueblood at least broke her fall.  
  
You turn to Kanaya in exasperation, "What the fuck are we going to do with those two?"  
  
The smallest of smirks dances on her lips, "I rather think that they are doing a good job of taking care of themselves, all things considered. I trust that should we need them, all we need to do is call and they shall come running."  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"-are really gonna heat up noww," Ampora is gesturing as he speaks. "Fef an I'vve got most of the seadwwellers on lockdowwn, but there's a faction that wwill alwways be more loyal to the Empress. It's hard wwith these old coots. They'vve seen four or fivve Heiresses come and go, so they wwon't back wwhat they think is a losin fight."  
  
"Word has spread to the rest of them," nods his moirail. "They know that she's gone now. Or, at least, they suspect it. It won't be long before someone goes to check for shore."   
  
"They will probably go looking for you first," Kanaya surmises. "After all, is not the Emissary a position thought only to be passed down to another Tyrian?"  
  
"Well, shit," your brow furrows. "They aren't going to do anything fuc- uh, drastic, right?" You see in the corner of your eye your moirail's hand lower. You had been about two seconds from getting another one of those head slaps.   
  
"Not wwhile I'm around, they're not," snarls the violetblood prince. "I'd use their guts for garters."   
  
The Heiress paps his face automatically as she responds, "They might question me, but they won't press too hard. After all, I am still a tyrianblood, spooky connection to the Outer Gods or not. How are they doing, by the way?"  
  
You all turn to Violet, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since the transmission. She places her little china cup of tea down gently and closes her eyes, "They are silent. There is nothing wrong with that, per-say, but if I had to venture a guess... Well, to be blunt: it feels like they are waiting for something." Her eyes open again, and you wonder if she had always been this cryptic or if having a link with fucking Horrorterrors had exacerbated the problem.  
  
"Can you be more specific?" questions Terezi as she glances up to sniff at her friend questioningly. "You seem a bit... off."  
  
"I would be dishonest if I said the situation did not cause me concern," she replies. "Moreso because _they_ appear to be concerned. Their gaze has been drawn here, but I cannot tell for certain why. They are awaiting something."  
  
"It could simply be because of the change in Emissaries," the jadeblood Hunterrorist attempts to helpfully supply. "I mean, this is probably the first time in a really, really long time that they have had a new one. A long time even for them!"  
  
"Yeah," Cerulean is already nodding. "Plus, we have kind of been stirring up trouble. It could be about the revolution happening. A lot of the old order has already gone down the drain."  
  
"Since Dualscar's assassination and then the escape of his killer, people have been starting to talk," Sollux chips in. "I wouldn't be surprised if we have a sudden influx of new recruits soon. And... still no surges in voices." You know that he tacks that last bit on the end for your benefit. Even if the others had trusted his ability (his curse) as much as you did, they would have chalked it up to an upcoming battle. However, you had voiced your true concerns to the goldblood. What you fear most of all is a massacre- the Imperial Guard and Drones marching against this hive and its allies and leaving nothing but a swath of destruction on your ragtag group of mostly untrained teenagers and flighty mercenaries.   
  
"We should start setting up caches," muses your matesprit, making this the first time he has joined the conversation proper. "Hidey-holes of weapons and nonperishable foods and medical supplies. Don't think the Imperials are gonna up and let us- excuse my language this once, Fef- let us sit motherfuckin pretty and safe in our castle walls. If it comes to guerrilla warfare, we'll want to be prepared."  
  
"Agreed," Terezi seconds his motion. "I would also like to bring up for discussion your mercenaries, darling."  
  
"They get paid well enough," he grunts. "They'll stay."  
  
"You know as well as I that we cannot rely upon them once the going gets rough," sighs the Legislacerator as she shoves her paperwork aside for the moment. "Pay does not trump survival, my dearest. Mercenaries never are well suited to actual war. At the first real battle, they will turn tail and scatter. Then we will have to worry about them turning informant!"  
  
"I agree," you hesitantly add. "I'm sorry, Gam, but she has a valid point. Also, they have been as a whole more trouble than they are worth. I'd rather get some trolls who really believed in the movement and train them to fight than try to 'sermon' to these bought muscleheads any more."  
  
"Cut off their pay," suggests Crimson. When you all turn to give him your undivided attention, he continues, "Tell them that the money is going towards long-term supplies and they are free to go. Those who leave are no good, but if any choose to stay, then it's a safe bet that Karkat's converted them through sheer volume and colorful swearing." There are a few chuckles at your expense.  
  
"That might be the best way to go about it," considers the tealblood. "Root out the unfaithful. I'd much rather break them off now rather than later. The less they know about our forces and plans, the better."  
  
"I'd just sit at the back of the army an shoot anyone stupid enough to retreat," mutters Ampora. This time he gets head slapped by his moirail. You barely resist the urge to snicker. "Oww- come on, Fef! I wwas just sayin-"  
  
"Eridan," her voice drops to something low and predatory.   
  
"Okay, yeah," he rubs the back of his head ruefully. "I knoww. The wwhole 'avvoid unnecessary bloodshed' thing."   
  
"It's not just that!" exasperation fills her voice. "If I even let you _think_ aboat doing such things, how does that make us any different than the current regime?"   
  
This time he looks away first, sheepish, "I get the point. It'll just take some gettin used to not pointin the rifle at evveryone wwho so much as sneezes funny."  
  
"You'll have plenty of targets for that ridiculous weapon of fried ozone and ocular globes soon enough," you remark darkly. "I don't think we need to make our troops any of them. We'll be hard pressed as it is with most the adults siding with the Empire."  
  
"Not all the adults," Lord Zahhak opens the door with all the subtlety of a hoofbeast in a china shop. "I apologize for my tardiness. I have someone who would very much like to meet you, Vantas. It is quite alright. He is a... most staunch supporter."  
  
The troll that enters the room behind him is (impossibly) even larger than he is, his long orange horns marking his age. His dark glasses are covered in a spiderweb of cracks, but his two arrow-horns are whole and unbroken. Your gaze hops from him to Zahhak to him again. Holy shit. You think you are actually seeing someone standing side by side with their ancestor. You almost want to pinch yourself to see if you are dreaming. This kind of shit just did not happen. He pulls off his shades very slowly and his gaze locks onto you.  
  
"Goodnight, Sire Vantas," his low voice is gravely and rough with disuse. "I am Darkleer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah. that endin. i know. it surprised me too X"DD i love characters poppin up outta nowhere on me and makin me scramble cause plot shit now has to be added. so much plot shit
> 
> sadly that is the last we shall be seein of olly and syl for quite some time. however. i am still toyin with the idea of givin the duo their own side-story prequel of sorts ((with aradia and tavros there too. of course)). so you may see more of them in the future but for now we are gettin to the thick of things. the revolution has officially started and the first real battles will be comin up in a couple chapters. hope you all are lookin forward to it!!


	23. Nepeta

You creep behind your moirail and his larger clone, full of anxiety. From the moment that his ancestor had come knocking (literally banging on the door with huge booms), Equius had been a total creep. First he had attempted to kick the old highblood right out of the hive, barking some comment about not needing his help. Then when the even-larger giant had brushed past him, his eyes had locked onto you. Even weirder, the stranger had begun to cry. This made Equius get way overprotective, and he had been growling like a wounded bear ever since. There was a lot of yelling and threats.  
  
Darkleer (as the stranger introduced himself) had announced that he had heard rumors of 'a child with crimson blood.' You had made the mistake of delightedly exclaiming that was your good friend Karkat. Your moirail's spine had immediately stiffened, and you stopped talking mid-sentence. Then there was a whirlwind of commotion, and you tagged along behind them as they marched straight over to the Grand-Highblood's hive. Equius enters the room where the meeting is taking place, and Darkleer files in after him. You dart in after his massive shape largely unnoticed.   
  
"Goodnight, Sire Vantas. I am Darkleer," he introduces himself.   
  
"Well shit," Gamzee scratches his chin. "I all up and thought you were dead by now." When Terezi smacks him, he continues, "What? Zahhak took over his title and lands forever ago. Ain't normal to give up what you'd worked for."  
  
"I thought it prudent at the time to return to the Scratch," he replies as his gaze sweeps slowly over the rest of the room and pauses on every few faces. "So many familiar faces... Dolorosa. Psionic. Mindfang. ...surprised to see Dualscar's descendant sitting at this table. Also the Grand Highblood's get, but I assume my culling him for being within three yards of the Sufferer's child would be frowned upon."  
  
"Whoa!" Karkat has his hands up already. "Nobody is culling anyone! Also, back up a bit. Did you just refer to my moirail as the Dolorosa? The Mother?"  
  
"Shit, man, I'm more worried about the whole Scratch thing," the other crimsonblood waves him off. "Aren't they like extreme hemoradicals?"   
  
"Extreme radicals?" snarks Violet. "A bit redundant there, my dear."   
  
"Dualscar's dead ass can suck my-"  
  
" _Eridan_!"  
  
"Mindfang never would have looked as awesome as me."  
  
"How come everyone else got cool names and I'm just called Psionic?" Sollux is frowning. "Like, yes, we all know I am capable of floating and blasting shit with my eyes. Thanks for the update."  
  
"I do not like referring to him by his other name," shrugs the giant, "but you may know him as the Helmsmen."   
  
The room goes completely silent and you hesitantly sidle up next to your goldblood friend.  
  
"Ahem," Equius clears his throat.  
  
"Right!" his ancestor blinks and places the glasses back on. "I am here to ascertain for the Scratch whether the rumors of the second coming of the Sufferer had any truth. Quite frankly, I was not expecting such a blatant confirmation. As one of the council, I would like to extend our request for an audience with Sire Vantas."  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"-in Hell are we gonna let him motherfucking waltz into an unguarded location full of trolls we don't know!" the Grand Highblood is snarling. He makes a sweeping gesture with one arm, "Over my motherfuckin dead body, you-"  
  
"-terrible breach in security," frowns Cerulean. "Our palhoncho cannot go without accompaniment at the very least. Probably should take-"  
  
"-off. I've smelt traps that were less obvious than-"  
  
"-means no harm! There are plenty of followers who-"   
  
"-tag along to keep tabs on all their thoughts. It'd be as easy as-"  
  
You squeeze your eyes shut and clamp a hand over each ear. The outburst is dizzying, to say the least. Every troll is yelling to talk over the others so that they can be heard, but instead it is just a mess of sounds all tangled together. You swear you can feel the pulse in your ears as the overwhelming cacophony rushes over you.   
  
"EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!" one voice screams right next to you, easily twice as loud as any of the others. When your eyes fly open in surprise and the sounds abruptly stop, you can see Karkat peering at you in concern. "You okay, Nepeta?"  
  
"I'm fine," you shakily lower your arms. "Just everyone was being so pawfully _loud_."   
  
"Well, I'll take care of that," he gives a curt nod before turning back to the room at large and starts pointing. " _You_ \- shut up. This barely concerns you. _You_ \- stop making plans for me before I shove my foot so far up your wastechute that you taste leather. _You_ \- calm down before you embarrass yourself and the hive any further. And _you_ \- for the millionth time it's either Karkat or Vantas and I am really going to defenestrate you one of these nights if you can't remember even that."   
  
He turns to the giant indigoblood, "Look, I appreciate the offer, but I don't think anyone here is okay with me going to an undisclosed location to meet with strangers who could have assassins or drones among them."  
  
"I can assure you-"  
  
"I wasn't finished," he interrupts the ancient adult just like he would if he were talking to you. "As a counter-offer, you can bring your counsel here for an audience. Assuming that everyone is done throwing a bitch fit, that should pretty much negate all of their concerns."  
  
"It would be significantly more secure," nods Cerulean. "Weapons check for anyone who enters the hive and an armed escort in the room. Me and the guards could deal with that."  
  
"Agreed," the Legislacerator adjusts her red-tinted glasses. "That is a much more feasible option."  
  
"I will take this to the council," the indigoblood bows his head.  
  
"Good, now, if you don't mind, I'm going to give you a reprimand for inciting inflammatory responses," continues Karkat. "Two more of those and I will kick you out of the fucking room, Zahhak's ancestor or not."  
  
"Bastard totally wwill do it, too," grouses Ampora.   
  
"Don't test me, shitstain," glares the crimsonblood. "You have two marks against you already."   
  
"Aww, come on Kar-"  
  
"Don't you 'come on Kar' me! You suggested we throw untrained teenagers into battle to, I quote, 'see wwhat happened,' because you are too lazy to help train them!"  
  
"I nevver said I wwouldn't help train the seadwwellers, but that I don't think I'd be able to train the lowwbloods. Most a them use close range wweapons."  
  
"Oh, and this has nothing to do with you being a racist asshole? My mistake! By all means, you can continue on with your ludicrous assumption that not a single lowblood uses a rifle. Jade, go ahead and clock him with yours."  
  
"It would be my pleasure," grins your hissmesis briefly, "but, sadly, I recall there being a no griefing in the meeting room rule."  
  
"Alright, we are getting way off topic here," Terezi bangs her gavel (a wonderful rainbow contraption that you never got to play with). "Everyone calm down, sit down, and shut up. We still have several orders of business to get to. Darkleer, you are more than welcome to join us."  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
"Equius?" you snuggle up to your giant moirail as he works on little pieces of things that become wondrous gadgets.   
  
"Hmm?" he hums, too busy to really pay attention to you.  
  
"Is there really going to be a war?" you press your face into the back of his neck.   
  
He stills.   
  
"Are you worried, Nepeta?" he asks softly.   
  
You nod, "Of course I am, but... mostly because I don't want to lose anyone. We haven't had this many furiends in a pawfully long time, you know. But to have all of them mixed up in this- and against the Empire. I'm not so oblivious that I don't know how bad this is going to be. The lots of people dying kind of bad. It's just no fair!"  
  
"Shhhh," he carefully scoops you up into the gentlest hug he can manage. "There, there. I am not going to let anything happen to you or myself. As for our new friends, well, then it will be up to us to help keep them safe."  
  
"You purromise?" you sniffle.  
  
"I am ludicrously going to make a promise that nothing will happen to them as long as we have anything to say about it," agrees Equius. "You and I, we are strong enough to take down lots of foes. Even if those foes are drones instead of bandits or petty thieves. Together, nothing can beat us, remember?"  
  
"You're right!" you smile. "We are so purrrrrrfectly matched that it is a pawfully bad idea to stand against us. Seriously, though, we've gotta start making plans. If the drones come by surprise like they _always_ do, Makara's hive is going to be in big trouble! I've heard tails of hive invasions."  
  
"I doubt a force large enough to take on the whole of the Grand Highblood's hive could pass by ours unnoticed," he gently explains. "Although... if they come by sea we might be at a disadvantage. I certainly do not trust Prince Ampora to properly keep watch, especially now that the Heiress is in more danger. He will be preoccupied at best. Neigh, he will be completely negligent in his duties. I will set up some guards at the coastline that can inform us of any happenings."  
  
"When is Darkleer going to come back?" you fiddle with a piece of his hair.   
  
He grunts, "Hopefully not anytime soon. That old man brings nothing but trouble with him- the Scratch is a bickering group of hemoradicals. Although they may superficially have the same goal as Sire Vantas, they are full of ulterior motives and deceptions. Over the sweeps they have likely gotten more trolls killed than rescued. Foolish old goats!"  
  
"That's not very pawlite," you frown. "Surely they could at least help a little. After all, they want the Empress gone too."  
  
"The night that the Scratch does something other than sit around and get younger trolls to do their work is the night that we all are in serious danger," Equius shakes his head. "No, it is better if we plan on doing all the work ourselves. That way we are not disappointed by them."  
  
*       *       *       *       *  
  
You bat at the tassels on his capelet while he attempts to turn around and stop you, "Okay, okay! I fucking know I have all these ludicrous little bits hanging off! I told Kanaya that they were ridiculous but there's just no stopping her once she gets started. Now please cease and desist. We have bigger things to worry about than- holy shit on a shingle they are already here!"   
  
Turning, you can see that Karkat is indeed correct. The envoy is swaggering through the doors as if they owned the place (something you are used to seeing now from Eridan). Like Darkleer, they all wear gray, hooded cloaks and darkened glasses to hide their eyes. Although you cannot see any colors on them to confirm their bloodcastes, you can make some guesses based on their relative sizes and horn lengths. Almost all of them are old. Very old. There is at least two lowbloods in the group, judging from their smaller statures, and a midblood. Once they get closer, you and Terezi can probably sniff out what they are more clearly.   
  
"Sorry, but we have to have you check your weapons here," Cerulean is saying to them. "Protocol and all that." There are a few grumbles, but for the most part they seem to hand over their sparse weaponry with little resistance. Then they are all expectantly looking towards your group, obviously seeking out your redblooded friends.   
  
Terezi clears her throat, "Welcome, Counselors, to the Grand Highblood's hive. We do apologize for any inconvenience that this trip might have caused,  but certain security measures must be taken to ensure the safety of the Suffererkin." Karkat makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat at this, but remains otherwise silent.   
  
"We understand more than most the importance of keeping the Suffererkin safe," one woman steps forward from the group. "I am Counselor Tebith. Before we begin, there is someone here who would like to meet them." She steps aside, and an old hunched troll steps forward on shaky feet. It does not take long for everyone to realize that she is long past her prime and unable to move easily these days. One of her hands is put a little forward as if she normally walked with a stick or some kind of support.   
  
"Who took her cane?" Karkat's voice is icy and cold.   
  
"Uh..." is the uneasy reply Cerulean gives. "Terezi said take everything that could be used as a weapon- no exceptions."   
  
"Give it back," demands the seatroll. When the goofy guard hesitates, he adds, "Now!" The blueblood scrambles to comply.   
  
"Sorry, ma'am," he presents the walking implement back to the woman.   
  
She shakes her head, long triangular horns twisting in the light, "No, no. I would be ashamed to bring a weapon to his presence. But you appear to be a strapping young lad. Lend me your arm, then, and we shall not break your protocol. Provided you are willing to escort an ancient woman such as myself."   
  
"I would be honored, ma'am," he grins. He hands off the cane to Jade and offers the crook of his arm to the woman. She accepts it, and they progress forward at a snail's pace. Glancing around, though, you can see that no one minds. They are all entranced by this ancient woman plodding forward with the determination of a hundred trolls. When she reaches the steps to the pedestal, she has to take them one at a time. Then she is finally before your group.  
  
"I'm afraid my eyes went out years ago," she sadly explains, removing her glasses to show their bright red color. "You sound just like him, though." Her hands hover in front of her uncertainly, as if wishing to touch him and yet knowing she cannot.  
  
Then your gentle, sweet Karkat does something no one was expecting. He carefully cups her hands and raises them to his face. Having been given permission, her fingertips (claws cut short and blunted) brush over his facial features. You have never felt so jealous and so in awe simultaneously. A thumb brushes over his lips and then she is withdrawing her hands, expression unreadable. Crimson allows the same treatment to his own visage, going so far as to remove his protective shades. After realizing his bland expression, she tweaks his nose fondly.   
  
"I want you to remember that no matter your ancestry, you are your own trolls. Not genetics nor fate can decide what your path should be," she whispers to them.  Then she straightens and announces to the room at large, "Highest of the high. And lowest of the low. So it is true then. The circle is complete."   
  
Above the murmurings of the others, Counselor Tebith's voice can be heard, "Suffererkin, I would like to introduce you to The Disciple."  
  
*        *        *        *        *  
  
You pace the floor agitatedly, still spitting mad, "I can't believe it! Why would they even _think_ about suggesting something so- so pawfully bad?"  
  
"From their standpoint, it is more important that Crimson and I just stay alive," points out Karkat as he accepts a cup of tea from his moirail. "They do not care for the Heiress or the revolution. And why should they? They've probably lived long enough to see a dozen or so come and go."  
  
"Still, the fact that they wanted to cart you two off to their secret cave lair is rather disturbing," Terezi agrees with you, fiddling with a tart. "They want to not only remove you from immediate danger of assassination or battle, but from anything that could possibly harm you. Mark my words, they would have placed you in a prison cell for your own protection."   
  
"Well, that's why we told them to fuck off, in the politest possible way," he frowns. "I do feel a little bad though. That must have been very hard for her." You all immediately know who he is referring to.   
  
"The only reason they brought the Disciple along was likely to guilt trip you into acquiescing with their requests," Kanaya smooths down his hair.   
  
"Underhanded tactic," snorts the tealblood. "They knew that even if you were not technically the Sufferer reincarnated, you would have known the stories. They were counting on you being soft-hearted enough to pity her loss. But even she said that you are not the Sufferer. As much as it likely pains her, she would rather see you free and making your own choices than become little more than a glorified symbol of hope for a bunch of trolls who hide instead of trying to change anything."   
  
"I am glad that I got to meet her, though," he smiles faintly. "After all, I already had to sit at a table with Darkleer for a few hours, and we all know the story there."  
  
You blink, "What?"  
  
They all turn to look at you.  
  
"...oh," Karkat suddenly looks rather uneasy. "Um, you do know the story of how the Signless became the Sufferer, right?" You nod and he continues, "Well, according to the story, Darkleer was the troll that fired the arrow. He was the executioner."   
  
As your mind beings to spin, he continues, "Surprisingly a rather nice guy, all things considered. I was kind of freaking out when he introduced himself, but at least he has made it clear he is still attempting to repent. Also, totally figures that he is Zahhak's ancestor. Thanks for the heads up, Terezi."  
  
She throws her hands into the air, "We thought he was _dead_! What difference would it have made who Zahhak's ancestor was? He still is the same caste-set hulk as before."   
  
You stand up, "I've got to go." When they look at you questioningly, you add, "I need to go have a talk with my meowrail."   
  
As you storm outside, you here Karkat whistle lowly, "I fervently hope that I never piss _you_ off that badly, Kan."   
  
*        *        *        *        *  
  
It has been a few weeks since the rather abrupt meeting with the Scratch. You perch on the chair at Gamzee's table and watch as Karkat is mobbed by a small assortment of pupas. Ever since implementing the hive invasion preventative rotation, the Grand Highblood's hive had steadily found and taken in orphaned or injured pupas that were likely to make it onto the culling list. Now you could not even enter the hive without seeing at least three or four of them trailing after someone. As soon as they realized that they were not in danger, they opened up into rambunctious, loud little things.   
  
"Alright, alright!" he gives in. "You may each have one cookie. One! And then you have to go back to Kanaya's lessons and behave yourselves."  
  
The door slams open as Cerulean, the resident prankster and messenger, bursts into the main hall, "Uh, guys? We have a problem!"  
  
"What now, you imbecile?" sighs the crimsonblood.   
  
"There's a culling party heading straight for us," he bluntly states as he swiftly closes the heavy door behind him. "As in, a full squadron of drones. They don't look like they're carrying any pails, either."   
  
For a brief moment, Karkat is completely still.   
  
Then he is barking orders left and right, "Pupas in the lower rooms, and I don't want to hear a single whisper. You, you, and you! Go with them and keep them quiet. Yes, you can take the fucking cookies with you. Cerulean, go get our resident purpleblooded miscreant from whatever horrid disaster he is cooking and then your entourage while you're at it. I'd feel a lot safer facing down a full squadron with Violet nearby. Sollux, I swear to the outer gods- you had better be leaving this room immediately to go hide wherever you normally lurk when shit goes down. Please remember that you are _also_ _a mutant_ and thus in as much danger of being culled as me. Nepeta, you should probably head back to Zahhak's castle. We might want your mountain of a moirail on standby, just in case some-"  
  
"I'm not going anywhere, Karkitty!" you spit venomously. "And you can't order _me_ around! I'm not a Subjuggulator!"   
  
He drags a hand down his face, "Jegus fucking Christ! Fine! I-"  
  
"Technically when you say Jegus fucking Christ, you are referring to your ancestor twice over," Violet manages to somehow appear in the middle of the chaos. "So you are fervently exclaiming about your own ancestor having sex with himself. Now, I would really like to explore the depths of this undoubtedly-"  
  
"Violet, I am seriously about two more psychoanalyses away from stabbing you," he begins to rub his temples. "Just. Just stop. Please. We are literally about to either die horribly or at least have a very unpleasant experience that ends with a dead squadron of drones. Must we make it that much worse?"  
  
"Have faith, our valiant leader," she smirks. "I am quite certain that things will not turn out nearly as badly as you imagine."  
  
"Where's the fire?" Crimson asks as he is shepherded through the door along with Jade. The instant she spots you, her eyes narrow. You hiss lightly at her and she growls in return. Look at her with those long tresses and that rarer green color. She even has a wolf lusus! She totally thinks she is better than you. You do not even realize that the two of you are circling- closing in on each other with malicious intent- until Cerulean decides to break it up.   
  
"I said that they _weren't_ carrying buckets!" laughs her moirail as he pulls her away. "Knock it off, you two. We have more pressing matters to attend to."   
  
"Aw, but she started it!" you both exclaim.   
  
Karkat facepalms, "Remind me to tell my matesprit that Jade apparently needs a furlough at some point so we can go longer than two hours without our eyes being molested by the sight of half-naked greenbloods having hate make-outs in the middle of the hive."  
  
"Karkat, you're totally exaggerating," huffs his guard. "We were nowhere near halfway naked."   
  
"I saw things no one outside your quadrants should ever see!" he exasperatedly exclaims. "I was honestly surprised there wasn't a pail in the immediate vicinity. So if the two of you would kindly take your hormone-sodden bodies and move them as far apart as physically possible, it would be very much appreciated by at least four of us present. And also all of the Gogdamn _grubs_."   
  
"I, for one, would not mind seeing said make-outs," the other crimsonblood states.   
  
"Hey!" is Cerulean's indignant response.   
  
"Oh, shut-up you voyeuristic asshole," Crimson rolls his whole head instead of just his eyes. "Just because we're together doesn't mean I can't appreciate the view of your moirail doing hot hate-snogging with the spunky cat-troll. Come on, Violet, back me up here!"   
  
"I second the sloppy hate make-outs," she agrees.  
  
"Motion passed!" Terezi enters the room. "Now who's having sloppy hate make-outs? Is it Crimson and Karkat? Please tell me it's my two cherry boys! As a Legislacerator, I am bound to inform you that this is a binding contract and must be carried out immediately where it can be easily smelt by said prosecutor."   
  
"Sadly no," sighs someone wistfully. You are too busy glancing from one mutantblood to the other, thinking about the possibility. They scowl at each other for a moment before resolutely looking elsewhere. You blink slowly and decide that you are _definitely_ updating your shipping wall later.   
  
"For the last time, we are not having sloppy hate make-outs! Ever! Also, we have more important things going on, like, oh, say... a full squadron of drones about to knock down the door," reminds Karkat. "I swear on my ancestor's glowing shit I will seriously turn myself in for a mercy cull if you assholes do not start taking this just the tiniest bit seriously. It's only likely that Crimson and I are about to get brutally murdered for being abominations outside the hemospectrum- no big deal, I guess."   
  
"Stop being such a melodramatic drama queen," Cerulean pokes his nose, risking his finger getting at least broken if not bitten off. "It's not like the rest of the guards and I would just stand there and let them cull either of you. If anything, you are more likely to have a literal rage aneurysm in the middle of one of your preachy rants than to get a single scratch from a drone."  
  
Everyone chuckles at Karkat's expense as he swats the offending hand out of his face. However, all playful banter swiftly comes to an end as Gamzee enters the room. His eyes are hard- chips of amethyst glinting coldly out from a deceptively calm face- as he strides forward to his throne. Everyone falls silent and begins to shuffle to their places, intimidated by the eerie tranquility on a face known for its jovial laughter or intense rages. After a few moments, there is a loud pounding at the door.  
  
"And so begins the end," whispers Karkat to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another giant pause between chapters. i am terribly sorry but things were.... really rough on this side of the screen. the muse left me for quite some time and writing was literally the last thing on my mind. i hope you all understand. 
> 
> in other news- nepeta is hard to write for. like harder than terezi hard. i had an easier time with equius for cryin out loud!! its literally inconceivable how difficult this was when i love this character so much. orz
> 
> for those of you who dont know- you can find me on https://www.tumblr.com/blog/krisanderwrites for updates or if you wanna contribute to the story. also- check out the other part of the alternative alternia world 'Of Ghosts, Beasts, and Shadows' which is a prequel centered on olly, syl, aradia, and tavros.


	24. Karkat

"Get the pupas outta here!" you are screaming to be heard over the almost deafening cacophony. "CERULEAN I MEAN RIGHT THIS FUCKING INSTANT!" The blueblood rips an arrow out of his shoulder and turns to the cowering cluster of children. Next to him, his moirail fires off another round into a drone that draws too close for comfort. Everything has gone to shit so fast that you are not entirely sure what is going on anymore. You knew that when Gamzee sent the squadron of drones away without giving you up for the cull that things were going to get dodgy, but to have an entire army camped within a few nights of the hive meant that they had expected that in the first place.   
  
Luckily Nepeta and Zahhak had been able to warn you all so you were not caught by complete surprise. When your forces were overwhelmed and forced to retreat into the desert sands, you thought that just maybe you could still manage to get away. Well, maybe not you personally but at least the pupas and some of the guards. But everyone had insisted that you and Crimson retreat with the wrigglers, leaving you in charge of a pitiful handful of capable fighters when you ran smack-dab into a waiting squadron. Your second sickle embeds itself in a drone's spine and refuses to budge. Shit.   
  
"The eagles are coming!" shouts a young voice. "The eagles are coming!" You spot the kid staring off into the distance and follow where he is pointing to see.... what appears to be a shit-ton of large, dark shapes in the sky, lead by an equally huge white one. Please let those not be airborne cavalreapers. Please let those not be airborne cavalreapers. Please, please, please. You really do not want to die from a Gogdamn pincer movement that involves aerial forces. That is just plain not fair.   
  
The rapidly growing white shape swoops down, and a flurry of arrows pop up in some drones. As it wings overhead, you see that it is some kind of hootbeast lusus, complete with some troll riding on its back. The shout that rolls down to you is (quite frankly) music to your ears.  
  
"OLLY OLLY OXENFREE!" Syl cries.   
  
You have never been so happy to hear that stupid jingle. If you all manage to survive this, you are going to give those fucking kids a Gogdamn kiss right on the mouth. Both of them. The drones have apparently just now realized that there are reinforcements, and they start to fire up into the flock of giant-ass birds. The neat v-shaped formation breaks apart, and suddenly there is even more pandemonium than before. You are buffeted by a drone in a deadlock with one of the hive guards, and you nearly stumble right into another one.  
  
He turns, eyeing you balefully. Then his giant fucking two-hander comes up and you realize that you are fucked. Royally fucked, in fact. Scrambling backwards, your hand reaches for a weapon that has long since left your side. You are dead. You are so dead. The blade starts to move and-  
  
"SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKER!" someone yells, and with a whump, suddenly the drone and his threatening sword are gone.   
  
In his place crouches none other than Olly himself, clad in dark leather armor and clutching a wicked-looking hatchet in each hand. He stands, waving one of his arms in a circle, and the roc that he just leapt from swoops down to divebomb some poor asshole further down the line. Then the arm comes down, cleaving the drone's head from his shoulders (probably just for good measure, since the guy was flattened like a pancake). You strangely choose this time to note that his eyes already have a bit of blue in them. He is growing up.   
  
"Hey, is that my main man?" you can hear Crimson calling out from the other side of the escort group. "Olly Olly Oxenfree!"   
  
"HEY! OLLY OLLY, THAT'S ME!" the blueblood grins, looking every bit as demented as a demon. Then he turns to a lowblood teenager that literally appeared out of nowhere. As in. Poof here I am fuckers. Nothing one second and then next a troll. You wonder if you have brain damage. "Operation Redeye is a go! You know the drill, Leo."  
  
The girl nods smartly, then whistles, "Form ranks! Form ranks! Olly says to move out!"  
  
You wonder who she is talking to until a bunch of teenagers pop into existence around you. Although you and the guards hold your ground, you cannot say that you are not startled. Just a bit. (Okay, maybe you jumped _a little_.) However, your indigoblood newcomer does not seem phased at all. In fact, he sets onto a group of drones that had broken through your outer ring and were advancing towards you.   
  
"Pupas in the middle! I want two rotating rings around them," the kid yells even as he cuts down a drone. "Beetii, your group should pull up those boulders. I want to _not_ get stuck full of arrows today, thank you kindly. Oh, you _fucker_! I liked that greave. I said move out, Leowan! Get gone!"   
  
"Suffererkin," a small hand touches your elbow. You turn to see a thin lowblood smile gently down at you, "This way please, sire. Do not fret. We have everything un-"  
  
"I SAID THAT WAS MY FAVORITE GREAVE, ASSHOLE!" screams the indigoblood.  
  
"Well, _almost_ everything under control," he corrects himself. "Please join the pupas and your guards in the middle."   
  
You allow yourself to be led into the group of children who are staring about in wonder. Your guide leaves you standing next to Crimson, who looks as confused as you feel. In no time flat, your guards assemble around you, apparently not wanting to take any chances. Taking a quick head count, you confirm that none of the pupas are missing. Then you realize that you are all surrounded by the psychic teenagers.   
  
"Move out!" yells the kid who had just comforted you. "Pick up anything not wearing spiked armor along the way, and fucking cull everything that does! Down with the Empress!"  
  
"Hooah!" they all yell in unison, fists and weapons thrusting towards the sky.  
  
"Forward, march!" yells the girl that Olly had spoken with.   
  
As you walk forward in a daze, you watch the rings of psychics. The inner row rotates clockwise by staggering their gaits, and the outer row moves counter-clockwise. They pull up boulders as they go, floating the giant stones with psychic powers far beyond your run-of-the-mill psychic shenanigans. Several of these bastards appear to be psionics, even. The drones that meet the whirling deathtrap do not last long. As the group marches forward, you note how they split open seamlessly to allow entrance to your scattered guards. When you see your matesprit's bemused face as he is ushered into the protective circle, you let out a sigh of relief. At least he is safe.   
  
Slowly, you count more and more familiar faces joining your convoy. Violet placidly joins Crimson, a faint smile on her face even as her dark tendrils of power lash over the circle to smite some poor drone. A very disgruntled Equius and spitting-mad Nepeta are gently guided into the inner circle as well. Your moirail slips next to you and rubs at a head wound as if she is not bleeding herself. You are so damn relieved to see all of them that you almost could ignore the obvious sounds of battle beyond the psychics. A battle that sounds extremely gruesome.   
  
"Shit!" one of the psychics turns to face inward. "Olly! Olly Olly Oxenfree~! We got some psychic-resisters over here!"  
  
"Hey, Olly Olly that's me!" you can hear his voice from the other side of the circle. "On it, Charon. Someone gimme a boost, will ya?" You watch as a boulder dips down and someone scrambles ontop of it. Oh, you have got to be kidding. The foolhardy indigoblood rides on the rock as it flings overhead.   
  
"Booyah!" he exclaims as he lands on some poor soul with a particularly nasty crunch.   
  
"He may be a bit unorthodox," the girl from before is suddenly beside you, "but Olly is our best fighter. He protects us, in battle and out; crazy blueblood would rather peel off his own skin than lose a single one of us."  
  
"He's gonna die before his time for his troubles," sneers Makara.   
  
"I believe that Suffererkin perhaps understands better, Grand Highblood," she inclines her head. "Although our leader may not be a typical follower of the Signless, they have a common sense of duty towards others. Olly just happens to channel that need through his highblood destructive tendencies, whereas the Holy Compassion of the Sufferer is your matesprit's burden."   
  
She pauses for a moment as an explosion of curses rain down from the indigoblood's position, "He is not the most religious, the strongest, or cleverest of us all. But we all have our faults, and we hold not his against him. Without him we would have long since perished. So, until we achieve our promised paradise, we follow him wherever he may lead."  
  
Terezi pops out of nowhere to give you a bloodpusher attack, "Oh, you dropped these, by the way." She hands you your sickles and laughs at your spluttering. Thank goodness she found them, as you would have beaten yourself up for _sweeps_ if you had lost them for good. Dear sweet weapons, may they never leave your grasp again.   
  
"He's a bit young to be a leader, let alone some sort of savior," snorts your matesprit. "Especially considerin his mark."  
  
"Age is not a sign of merit, Grand Highblood," the girl retorts. "Nor is his great burden of his birth necessarily a detriment. Olly has learned to use his power of destruction for a greater purpose. When we are in trouble, he appears to wreck havoc on our enemies. When we are lost, he guides us to our salvation. When our lusii are ill or our hives broken, he mends them. You have only known Olly as a Doombringer- a destroyer. But we- we many- know him as both a Doombringer and a Hopemaker. One title does not nullify the other."  
  
"A demon of justice," a familiar voice announces. You glance around to see Olly entering the circle through its outer layers, "That is what they refer to me as, yes?"  
  
"I thought you hated such gossip," the girl coyly replies.  
  
"Leo, I hate gossip period," he snorts, tying off a bandage around one forearm. "But yes, I tend to try to direct my destruction towards those who deserve it. You little fuckers can thank the great and mighty Dia for that, since the old hag would never let me hear the end of it otherwise."  
  
"You can play modest, Olly, but I have heard how you howl during the day," is the cryptic reply.  
  
The boy glares dangerously, his now blue-tinged eyes glinting, "That ain't none of yer business, Leo. You'd do well to remember that." He glances around the motley crew and calls out to another kid, "Immint! What's the count?" Suddenly all the psychics seem interested in places other than your conversation.  
  
"Fuck, we haven't even done a head count yet," you realize. "Shit! Cerulean-"  
  
"I've been on it, friendleader!" he replies. "Thus far the count is twenty-three, but I still have a few missing that no one saw fall. It could be a bit higher."  
  
"Twenty eight altogether," the lowblood boy from before is suddenly back again. "We lost two. Daytho and her kismesis."  
  
"Daytho and Rammos," sighs Olly as he closes his eyes for a moment. "Damn. They were good kids."  
  
"They always are, Oxenfree," he replies. "Olly, you know, they might not come ba-"  
  
"They _always_ come back," is the bitter answer. You note that the teenager's shoulders are raised a bit, like he is looking to defend from a coming blow. Something finally clicks.   
  
"You're afraid they'll come back as ghosts," you realize. "Shit, Olly. Does Aradia still set them on you?"  
  
"'A penance for every good soul that dies due to my actions,'" he darkly recites. "That's what she calls it. A life you save is a life you are responsible for, Redeye. They are your 'nakama' as the older lowbloods say."  
  
"Your family," translates Leowan before turning back to her leader. "Olly. Are you sure you don't want us to do something? I'm pretty sure there are enough of us to-"  
  
"I told you not to get involved, Leo," he snaps. "No good will come of it. Besides, without her and that Captor guy we would have never known to be here tonight. We heard chatter there were drones in the area, but this... Anyway, I have a trump card. Worse comes to worse, I know someone even scarier than her. All us Doombringers do."  
  
"No," states a familiar voice. Before you can even turn around, Syl has caught up to your little knot and clocked her moirail on the back of his head. Even as he rubs it ruefully, she snarls at him, "You will _not_ go to _Her_ for help! Oh, good night, Sire Vantas. Olly- you absolute moron! She would rip you apart and devour your flesh before you even got in a word edgewise. And another thing, you twit! I thought we agreed that you were going to stay mounted for this battle! What good are you going to be to anyone if you break your stupid ankles jumping off eagles?"  
  
"Rocs," he cuts in.   
  
"What?" she is taken aback. "I don't see how that-"  
  
"I said, Rocs," he explains patiently. "They are more group-oriented than eagles, not to mention about twice their size. Also, you are holding up the group. Nag as we march, please. YOU HEARD ME ASSHOLES! DOUBLE-TIME! LET'S GO!" Everyone immediately jumps and shuffles around to obey him. Now _there_ 's an army that knows who's the boss. If only you could get people to respond to your orders like that.  
  
"I'm not done with you yet, you blathering imbecile," continues Syl. "For crying out loud! At least bandage those wounds before you leave a lovely blue trail for the drones to follow."  
  
He snorts in response and points to the other fighters, "I think we are leavin more of a rainbow than anythin else. Calm your tits, woman. We'll be at the drop point soon enough." She thwacks him upside the head again so hard that you are sure if he was not a thick-skulled indigoblood he would be unconscious.   
  
You clear your throat, "You two done yet? Because I, for one, would somewhat like to know what the plan is."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
The plan, apparently, was to drop you off at a hidden hivestem. Correction, a hidden _city_ of comprised of teenagers, outcasts, and deserters. The lowblood adult that had greeted your group (named Quirik and missing a whole arm) ushered you all inside for medical attention and the psychics dispersed. By the time you had escaped the limelight long enough to look around, Olly and Syl were already gone. You were told that the although the city was founded by Olly, he never remained there for more than an hour or two. It also apparently was not the only one of its kind, as one or two of the psychics mentioned returning to someplace called 'the Oasis.'  
  
You think of all this as you listen to the reports from the guards, knowing that things are much better than they could have been. On one end of the table sits Quirik, Leowan, Immint, and an ancient seadweller who 'just goes by The Devourer.' (And you are definitely _not_ going to ask how he got that title.) They are acting as the spokespeople for the hivestem in your meeting. You are seated at the other end, with your guards and precious friends surrounding you.   
  
"Right, so we are ready to disperse whenever we finalize our plans," you conclude. "We can't just sit around here in the desert forever. The Empress already knows that Crimson and I are out here somewhere- or at least one of us- and that's enough for her to start culling like mad."  
  
"None of us have heard from Serket, so we don't know how she or the other troops have fared," points out Cerulean. "Plus, without her powers we are much further in the dark than before."  
  
"I, for one, would prefer some sort of warning if things were about to go down," agrees Jade. "I don't know how much the Empress learned from the battle, but a group of psychics and eag- I mean rocs- coming to your aid is probably highly concerning to her. She will cast her net out farther."  
  
"Speaking of nets and crazy tyrianbloods," you voice your next concern, "have any of our resources got anything on the Heiress? Or her trigger-happy moirail, but preferably the non-genocidal maniac of the duo?"  
  
"Nothing yet, but likely she is being closely watched right now," sighs Terezi. "These sort of uprisings make her look highly suspicious, so right now the lovely Feferi is probably listening for footsteps behind her. Or whatever the underwater equivalent is."  
  
"Fef will be fine," her moirail waves his hand vaguely. "When things get tough, she hides out in the Rift. Even without her lusus, that's not a place most motherfuckers would dare to venture."  
  
You shudder, "Wonderful. Well, as long as she's safe that's fine. I don't envy the troll or beast that finds her, either."  
  
"They'd have to get through Prince Ampora first," notes Cerulean. "Anyway, the time for tiptoeing around and rescuing pupas in secret is over. We need to start thinking about seriously recruiting some fighters; when the Empress comes at us again, she'll strike hard and fast."  
  
"I'd say with the trolls in the hivestem here we've got a nice boost in numbers," frowns Terezi.   
  
"If I may interrupt," Leowan nervously shifts in her seat. "We are supporters of the hemoequality movement, but we are not soldiers. If members of the hive want to join your cause they are free to do so, but as a whole we will remain here."  
  
"What?" blinks Gamzee.   
  
"Guys, we can't just assume that since they swooped in to rescue our sorry hides that they'd all sign up for the long-haul," you attempt to explain. "Aiding and abetting is one thing; joining in a revolution is another."  
  
Quirik inclines his head, "Rightly spoken, Suffererkin."  
  
"You idiots don't really think that you're safe, do you?" sneers Terezi. "Hiding in the desert is not a legitimate survival strategy. At some point the Imperial drones are going to march right through here and cull every single troll they find."  
  
"Then we will fight to defend our home," shrugs Immint, "but we are not yours to command. We choose to follow Olly into battle when he calls, or we choose to remain here in safety. Either way, the choice is ours and ours alone."  
  
"Most of us are still just children," adds Leowan, "and those who aren't are disabled or deserters. You cannot expect us all to abandon everything we have worked so hard to build and march into battle. Perhaps if Olly went with you, more of us would follow- but for us, the fighting is unnecessary. We already have a system of hemoequality in the hivestems, separate from the influences of the Empire. Why should we risk it all for the very trolls that cast us out in the first place?"  
  
"Because it's what's right!" snaps Crimson, uncharacteristically showing his ire. "Some of the trolls out there are assholes, sure. Maybe even a lot of them. But most the trolls are just like you kids, except they never had some bullshit indigoblood psychic rush in at the last second to save the night. They had to do it themselves and ended up trapped in a horrible position of 'do what you're told or be culled' and you have _no right_ to judge them for it!"  
  
The girl frowns severely, "Even so, those who oppress do not deserve-"  
  
A huge fist slams down on the table, causing her to nearly bite her tongue as she snaps her jaws shut. Everyone's eyes lock on to the seadweller as he slowly rises to tower menacingly over the lowblood girl. He rips the front of his tunic open to reveal the brand of the Empress on his chest complete with a trident under it, and you almost gasp aloud. That is the mark of not just a drone, but one of Her Imperious Condescension's personal guards.   
**  
**"Your precious Apollo used to think like that too," he snarls in a guttural voice. "That some trolls lives were worth more than others based on their sins. His blessed moirail was the first one who showed him that even a troll capable of the foulest deeds can still be a good person, given the chance. If he could find a place in his black heart to save _me_ from what I had become, your paltry claims of who 'deserves' saving are not only hypocritical, but childish and pathetic. You have no place to judge them. None of us do, save perhaps the Suffererkin themselves."  
  
"There, there, Devourer," Quirik smiles fondly. "Leowan meant no disrespect to you or our guests. These younger ones don't know how the world works; they were 'rescued' from it too soon by the little Wanderer. They never had to make the tough decisions that we did to survive."  
  
You decide to take initiative for once in your miserable life and cut in, "Leo, there are rarely trolls who are purely evil, just as there are rarely those who are all good. Most of us are a mix of the two that are in constant turmoil. It's the system that forces us to be evil that we want to destroy, not the people in that position. If there were some way for this to resolve where not a single troll died, not even a drone, I would jump at that chance like overzealous barkbeast with a juicy bone."   
  
"Spoken like the Sufferer himself," softly smiles Quirik. "Aye, I think I can see some of our trolls following you."   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You wander through the ranks, making sure everyone has enough supplies and at least some form of weapon. In the end you had decided to leave all the pupas here at the hidden hivestem. Knowing now that the battles would not stop until either the Empress fell or she destroyed your little rebellion, you could not even consider dragging those young ones along for the ride. Still, your numbers had actually evened out from the psychics that decided to join your movement. Not surprisingly, the Devourer also silently appeared at the assembly with a rucksack and a nasty-looking scythe that made your sickles look like kiddy toys. When he suddenly starts following your every step, you start to worry.  
  
"Look, uh, I'm not sure what you are doing, but I already have an entire team of assholes who shadow me constantly to keep me from getting offed," you gesture to your hovering entourage. Their reactions range from Cerulean, who just laughs, and Equius, who frowns severely and looks as if he is grinding his teeth again.   
  
"Suffererkin, if I was good enough to guard the Empress herself, may she see reason and step down from her throne peacefully, I believe I am more than capable to protect your sorry hide all on my own," he states. "Put your friends to better use: commanding your troops. You cannot be everywhere at once."  
  
"Couldn't have said it better myself," Crimson leans heavily on your shoulder. "Seriously. Can we _not_ have every single leader of this uprising constantly bunched in one place? Not only is it really inefficient, but one good cannonball can take out half of our chain of command."   
  
"I concede that you have a point," begrudgingly admits Terezi, "but there are two of you and only one of him."  
  
"That is not entirely true," The Devourer smiles slightly and holy shit those are a lot of needle-like fangs. "One of my dearest companions will meet with us shortly. I will guard Sire Vantas, and she shall do the same for Sire Crimson. We both have had the most rigorous training the Empire can provide. Please leave their protection to us."  
  
"No offense, but I'm not entirely sure I trust a pair of drones with the figure heads of our motherfucking rebellion," your matesprit's eyes are narrowed.  
  
"Coming from the Grand Highblood, that is likely the most hypocritical statement I have ever heard," notes the giant violetblood. "Ah, but I can see how you might doubt our resolution. Until you are comfortable, one extra guard can remain with each of them. Still, I would start dividing the troops into squadrons lead by commanders that then report to you two, Suffererkin."  
  
"We sort of have a loose system already in place," you explain. "Lord Makara, Lord Zahhak, and Marquise Serket all have their own troops and certain trolls that disperse orders. Unfortunately, I do agree that having you all constantly hovering around is probably detrimental, even if you consider just the fact that there always have to be runners going from you guys to the soldiers. Here's what we'll do. Cerulean, you're too good a leader to spend all your time here. Let Violet take care of Crimson. There's no way anyone would be able to get through her.  
  
"As for me, I think my moirail has also proven her worth a hundred times over. Sorry, Gamz, we need you on the battlefield to control your motherfucking cultists. You know that they rarely listen to anyone but you." You expected some sort of outcry, but after a bit of bitching and moaning everyone agrees to these terms. After all, you are sort of the leader of this sorry excuse of a revolution.   
  
"Just one last thing. Who is this dear friend, exactly?" asks Jade.   
  
"She goes by The Purifier," the seadweller explains, "and she is the only troll, seadweller or landdweller, who has ever beaten me in combat."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
When the trident comes sailing through the air to bury itself two feet in front of you, you are slightly shaken. The fact that the Devourer had the reaction time to place himself between you and the weapon before it landed shakes you more. Apparently you are the only fucking troll in existence who cannot do that stupid streaking sprint. Even _Crimson_ could do it, for crying out loud.   
  
"Hahahaha! Nice reaction, Devourer!" a shrill voice laughs. "What were you going to do? Get skewered?"  
  
"Good to see you too, Purifier," he sounds as bland as ever. "I knew it wouldn't reach us. Even you have a maximum throwing distance."  
  
The troll that sashays out from some shrubbery is not the hulking square mass of muscle you have come to associate with drones, but instead a lithe sprite full of wicked grins and a cocky attitude, "So says you! Even if I lost my good arm, I've had pleeeeenty of time to practice with the other one. Aw, look at the little Suffererkin! Which one's mine?"  
  
"That is _not_ a drone," hisses Terezi after sniffing the air. "She's a Gogdamn _tyrianblood_."  
  
"I never said she was a drone," deadpans the Devourer. "I said that she had some of the best training the Empire has to offer. You assumed she was an Imperial guard."  
  
The Purifier pulls her trident out of the sand, "Guard? Ha! Is that what you thought? No, I was something much worse: the former Heiress. But as you can see, I sadly wasn't quite _cut out_ for the task."  
  
"Please, Purifier, don't," the Devourer looks like he wants to sigh.   
  
"What for, Dev? Are they not _cutting it_ for ya?" her grin grows wider. "You look a little _torn up_. I'd _give you a hand_ but I only have the one good one now."  
  
"Oh my Gog," you cannot help but tiredly exclaim. " _This_ is who is going to be keeping me and Crimson alive?"   
  
"What's the matter, lil' shrimpcake?" something in her gaze turns hard. "You think I'm not good enough? You think a broken troll missing an arm is too much a liability?"  
  
"No, I think we're going to die from over-exposure to puns," you snark.   
  
All at once her expression lightens, "Aw, you poor bubbly babies! Don't worry, The Purifier is here to protect you, soooo I'll cut back on the puns for ya."  
  
"How do we know you can be trusted?" Terezi frowns. "Besides apparently being recommended by a former Imperial guard we met _yesternight_."  
  
"Let's just say I've got a bone to pick with the Empress," the woman shrugs. "Anything that gets her tyrian panties in a twist gives me endless joy, so as long as you all are fucking up her plans, I want in on it. Getting to slaughter some drones, no offense Devourer, and foil her assassination attempts are just icing on the cake. Besides, you won't find a better trident-wielder on the planet. 'Cept maybe the new Heiress, of course. Can't say I've seen her in action."  
  
"Don't worry, Terezi," you attempt to placate with her. "Violet will be there with Crimson, too. If you think that _she_ can't handle some tyrianblood pixie with a penchant for puns, we need to get your thinkpan checked."  
  
Violet inclines her head, "I'm glad you think so highly of my abilities, Sire Karkat. But yes, I would rip her to shreds if she raised a hand against my moirail. I am also quite certain Kanaya feels the same."  
  
"Indeed," your moirail smiles in a way that reminds you she is perfectly capable of cleaving a drone almost in two.   
  
"I don't mind having an extra pupasitter," shrugs the Purifier before looking down at her charge. "Nice shades, Crimson. What's with the name, though?"  
  
"It's how I feel about everyone in this desert," he says with the best poker face you have seen in sweeps. "My lusus knew that I would be the biggest ruddy whore in history. What's with yours?"  
  
Her grin widens, "It's how I make my booze. Best moonshine on the continent."  
  
"No shit," an eyebrow quirks up. "Any chance you're willing to share some of-"  
  
"Ahem," Terezi clears her throat. "Before we devolve into further banter, how about we continue our march to somewhere more defensible? I'd rather not get caught out on the open desert again."   
  
You note how Cerulean is glaring at the tyrianblood as if it were a legitimate death threat, "Agreed. Let's continue on to the stronghold."  
  
"Aw, it looks like we're holdin up the party. Let's get a move on, little Suffererkin. We can talk while we walk."  
  
"Sure," he falls into step easily enough. "But I'd prefer to do some slam poetry."  
  
She throws her head back and laughs, "You know, looks like you and me are gonna be reeeeeeally good friends."  
  
You do not know whether you are terrified of the notion or amused. You did know, however, that these two had seen enough revolutions come and go (and possibly started a few) that they really believe in your cause if they are finally joining in the fight. Still, the two guards would have to prove their worth and loyalty to the others. As much as you wish that it was not so, you know that they will have plenty of opportunities to do it in the near future.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"And we are sure this is where the troops are camped out?" you frown as you stare intently at the map.  
  
"According to three different sources even," snorts Sollux.  
  
"What are you two thinking?" Crimson questions.  
  
"Ambush," you both state. Blinking, you glare at him as you continue, "See how they are up against the cliffs on one side and a river on the other? That's not just a defensible location, it's a great way to lay a trap. Place some archeradicators up on those cliffs, a few seadwellers in the river, and instead of being pinned down you've got anyone stupid enough to challenge you flanked."  
  
"You spent _way_ too much time with that fucking violetblood prince," points out the yellowblood.  
  
"You're one to talk," you snap back.   
  
"Okay, boys, we get it, you both learned your military strategies from the most annoying slimeball alive," Cerulean rolls his eyes. "Now, while I agree that's a legitimate concern, here's what you two are lacking: experience. It is an ambush, yes, but there's no way they will have seadwellers laying in wait. Have you _ever_ seen a violetblood who didn't want to be front and center in every engagement? No, at most they might have a purple or two lurking around, but no flanking from the river. Where you need to be looking is here."  
  
"The wastelands? Nothing lives there and there's nowhere to hide," Sollux frowns.   
  
"If you only think about the surface, sure," shrugs the blueblood in an annoyingly relaxed fashion. "But there's a reason seadwellers usually make superior strategists- they think in three dimensions."  
  
"...are you implying that they will have trolls entrenched in there like mites in the festering, folded hide of a trunkbeast?" you can feel your thinkpan flipping. " _Why_? That's not a direction we would retreat in or approach from."  
  
"If you consider the range of the archeradicators," he makes a small semi-circle with some blue chalk, "and the land units here," a squiggly of a stick-troll, "then you've got a limited range to approach from. If you block out the wastelands completely as an option, your range is even smaller. You'd have to either go along the base of the cliff, or risk the open plains. The cliffs are pocketed with caves, too, so there's bound to be squads stationed in them."  
  
"Basically, they would corner us into approaching only from the plains," agrees Terezi sourly. "We would be sitting quackbeasts. Also, _must_ you use that awful color?"  
  
"Yes, I must," he sticks his tongue out playfully. "But we can't just let a force that large camp out so close to hideout twelve without doing something. What do you think, Gamz? Swandive?"  
  
You glance at your matesprit, who has templed his fingers before him, "Yeah, I recon that would up and work if you wanna get a good hit on those motherfuckers. Gotta be quick and get the alarmcallers first."  
  
"I can arrange that," nods Cerulean. "Swandive it is. I'll get Serket's troops to complete the maneuver. Goodness knows they need to get some action before she really does start killing them off for fun."  
  
"Would either of you assholes like to explain why we are discussing honkbeasts and their sudden inability to stay airborne?" you gripe.   
  
"They're going to approach from here," Terezi's cane thwaps down on the back side of the cliffs that turn into desert. "You don't have to be down on the ground with the troops to cause a lot of death and destruction. Take out the archeradicators and you have a great position to send your own projectile weapons down on the bulk of the force."  
  
"I was more thinking boulders, but that is the general idea."   
  
You suddenly remember why you find Cerulean's grin to be creepy. Somehow he always has the same one on his face, whether he is trying to tell a joke, pull a prank, or apparently planning to crush people to death. You do not care if he is your senior when it comes to planning battles, he needs a nice long vacation from the Subjuggulators once this is over.   
  
"Okay, while you get Serket's crew to do that, we will have to deal with this veritable fort they are amassing over here," Crimson pats another section of map that is mostly blank. "I don't know about you, but the idea they are settling in to make a nearby base of operations makes me uneasy. It's not an area we have a lot of people at, from what I understand."  
  
Gamzee glances it over, "That be near the Cerulean Castle, right bro?"  
  
"Ugh, I had almost forgotten," Cerulean makes a face. "Thanks a lot, Gamz."  
  
"Stop being a weenie," the tealblood waves her cane threateningly.  
  
"Bluh, fine," he sticks his tongue out. "But yeah, that's not too far. You want me to take my squad up there and clear it out? I suppose the place could at least serve as a sort of base or something."  
  
"Not sure one squad would be enough," mutters Jade warily.   
  
"More bases are always a good thing," you point out. "My squad can come along. I'm getting pretty tired of you assholes trying to shunt us away from all the dangerous tasks anyway."  
  
They all stare at you for a moment.  
  
Terezi carefully begins, "I don't think-"  
  
"Nah, he's right, Terezi," cuts in the wonky-horned blueblood. "We can't keep his whole squad out of the action forever. Besides, the rest of you are going to be busy securing the route to the beaches. If they cut us off from Fef-er, the Heiress and her supporters, we will be in a right mess. So either way he's going to be in the thick of things."  
  
The look on your matesprit's face is decidedly sour, "Fine. But if anything happens to him, it's on your motherfuckin head, Cerulean. Being an old fling won't save you."  
  
" _What_?" your eyebrows shoot upwards.  
  
" _Excuse me_?" Crimson places a hand on his hip.  
  
"Gamz, I thought we weren't talking about that ever again!" hisses the blueblood.   
  
It is Terezi who answers you two crimsonbloods, "Lil' blueberry here had the biggest flush crush on Gamzee back in the day. Pulled the most sincere pupa-moves on him, too. I thought we had agreed on ignoring it, but imagine my surprise when I rounded a corner to find the two of them-"  
  
"Now would be a really great time to shut up, Terezi!" Cerulean slaps a hand over her mouth. "Come on, do we have to bring this up every time? It was a fling! It was forever ago!"   
  
Gamzee turns to the shaded troll beside him, "Also, Crimson my brother, you're gonna need some friendly advice from another lowblood, because that motherfucker is _hung_."  
  
"Jegus Christ!" exclaims the poor highblood as he covers his rapidly bluing face with his hands. "You fucking assholes. One more comment and I'm pulling out my hammer and demolishing the table."   
  
There is a brief pause before Crimson asks, "Is the hammer your bulge?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor cerulean. its just too much fun to pick on you XX"D
> 
> well things are starting to move along more into the plot-heavy section. lookin at my notes now i might have to rework some things so they make more sense and dont interrupt the flow; or even cut a few out entirely. as fair warnin though.... from about here on out we are going to be in a tempest of feels. this bit of the waters are rocky and dangerous. as they say on the maps 'here there be monsters'
> 
> ....fuck i think im the monster in this scenario


	25. Gamzee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: character death ahead
> 
> repeat- character death ahead

Securing the route to the beaches, although tactically sound and supported by every major battle recorded in history, was a motherfucking pain in the ass.   
  
First there was the logistics of breaking up the army into small enough groups to travel largely unnoticed and by multiple routes. Then came deciding which areas to focus your efforts, both short and long-term. Eventually some of your forces would have to occupy certain locales to prevent any old squadron of drones coming in and cutting off all communications with the Heiress. Everything was political give and take, weighing the positives against the cost. You, quite frankly, loathed it.   
  
After all, there was a reason you allowed your moirail to handle all of these decisions with far-reaching repercussions. You were too forward and brash, bulldozing straight to the point and consequences be damned. When you did engage in politics, it was mostly out of whim and often ended up creating more chaos and discord than before. Your capricious nature eventually became rather renown, even among those who had dealt with your cull-happy ancestor. Planning all of these small skirmishes was too annoying and pointless. If someone would just point you in the right direction for enemies to smash, you would be ever so grateful.   
  
Which is why when you overheard Terezi discussing with Crimson who to send to old Fort Ironside, you jumped at the opportunity. Or rather, you flashstepped to her side and wheedled her into letting you accompany the redblood's squadron. Anything to get back on the battlefield where you can release some of your not inconsiderable rage on some deserving targets. Of course, life is never that simple.  
  
Standing on the ramparts, you cease your ruminations of past events and lost causes. You had a fort to liberate from camping drones, but first you had to figure out how to get to them. They were holed up in every defensible nook and cranny you could locate, all waiting for your troops to try and rout them out. Unacceptably high casualties would result if you played their game, but waiting them out is also not an option. You sigh.  
  
"We could always try to smoke them out," suggests Crimson from where he squats a few yards away. "Throw some sick fires at them, you know?"  
  
"If you're motherfucking wantin to practice some slam poetry with a brother, now is really not the-"  
  
"No. No, dude," he interrupts you. "Man. I mean actual fires. You know I'm a lowblood right? Even the lowest of the low. Opposite end of the spectrum from your lovebird, Yelly McShouty."  
  
Your mind splits into seventy directions at once, all wild and incomprehensible. Then your thoughts return to you with all those wicked ideas and you nod, "I shoulda figured. Alright, my brother, let's rain some fireballs down on them and see if we can't get those tin cans to come out and play. Get your squad."  
  
Giving one more glance to the layout of the fort below, he stands and disappears. You wait a few moments, then you flashstep over to your own subordinates to ready them. After all, sick fires or not, that little crimsonblood was going to need some serious backup to clear out the infamous Fort Ironside. Even without the titular giant blueblood (who was supposedly ridiculously hard to kill until he suddenly disappeared one day) in charge, the structure itself was well built for defending. If your forces are unable to drive them out, this battle is going to turn into a killing field. Luckily for this movement, killing is what your Subjuggulators do best.    
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
You are amazed.   
  
Never before have you seen a psychic like this. His mouth having an ever so slight upturn at one corner, Crimson is practically laying waste to half the army on his own. Perched upon the highest tower, he stands with his palms upwards and arms open as if placating the heavens. And utterly failing at that task. The fireballs that rain down range from 'that will probably leave a bruise' size to larger than a troll. Although they slam into the ground with explosions and there is a raging battle going on, you keep getting distracted every time you glance upwards. He has that tiny smirk, as always, and those flashing red eyes.   
  
You wonder a bit what goes on in that head of his.   
  
You quickly decide it is not worth your time. Trolls like him are easy to read. He puts up a brave front, but you know from experience that is all it is. Even as you introduce a drone's helm to your iron-strapped club, you remember how utterly tiny and fragile he was behind those shades and that poker face. All these kids are too young, too innocent, too bright- and you are one of the ones helping to sully them. Asking them to do this work that should have been done long ago. Gritting your fangs, you flashstep to the nearest big guy and slam into him at full speed, club first.   
  
Too much thinking. You wanted the fighting to take your mind off things. Bloodletting was the only thing that helped. Well. The only thing that helped that wasn't sopor in your food, but Terezi had made you cut that shit out a long time ago. So bloodletting it was. Yet, you don't feel any better right now. You have already lost count of all of the drones you have crushed, but the nagging thoughts still buzzed in your head like so many flies attracted to shit. You had to get it out. The rage had to pour out now, lest later it cause you to explode into itty... bitty... pieces.   
  
With a twist, you send a bracer flying, the arm still buckled inside. Then up comes your other arm and your second club crunches into a jaw with a satisfying sound. You do not even have to turn all the way to your left before another target is literally throwing itself at you. Swipe and bash, another drone is down. Rinse and repeat. Most of these guys are not even a remote challenge. All greenhorns signing up with the Empire to try and rise above their allocated station. You are disappointed.  
  
Then you see her.   
  
Across the battlefield, there's a _really_ big drone with a mace crushing in the ribcage of one of your trolls. She has to be at least an indigo, if not a purple. With a kick, she sends three more trolls skittering along the cobblestone, bringing down her mace on the nearest one to bash in his helmet. There is your challenge. About time. Now you just had to murder everything between you and her so you could have a proper fight.  
  
By the time you reach her, all you can focus on is her movements. She has been trained well, that much is obvious. Whereas you use your muscles in whatever way your mind can create on the spur of the moment, she is following through with her movements in a form that makes you think of Roughannihilators crossed with the neater Legislacerators. She spots you about the time you are getting within lunging range, and the swift approach of your club is met with her mace. Locked in place, the two of you test your strength by attempting to push back the other.   
  
You are at least a head taller, and have quite a bit more sinew, but she is built stout like a proper blueblood. It takes a few moments before you get enough power to push her back a few inches. Looming over your opponent, you wait for a chance to bring in your secondary weapon and try to intimidate her. Even as you grin down at her face, her own expression remains neutral. Drones are just so fucking boring to fight.  
  
Without a trace of fear, she suddenly shifts and throws all of her weight at you. It is enough to gain back those precious few inches. With a snarl, you snap your second weapon forward and she steps back so that you swipe nothing but air. For a moment the two of you circle, sizing each other up once again. However, you do not have the patience to wait for an opening, especially not with all these inconsequential little motherfuckers around that would love to stab you while you are distracted.  
  
You lunge forward again, whipping your club up at the last second to crack resoundingly against the head of her mace. The reverberations dance down your arm and into your spine, yet you are still not satisfied. The dirt of the courtyard just looks so damn unfinished without a splash or two of that dark blue color. You think to yourself that if you were at home you would keep some of it to start another oceanscape, but then you remember. That is right. Home and hive are far behind you now. All that is left is this fighting. Mauling others to scrape together an existence with your precious ones. If you were not currently parrying a crushing blow meant for your ribcage, you might have sighed aloud. Instead the sound that comes out is one part wheeze and two parts grunt.   
  
Flowing into her next form, she shoves the mace to the side in an attempt to splat you against a nearby wall. With some deft maneuvering you manage to squeeze out of the situation and towards her. Your forehead meets her nose with the brittle crunch of broken cartilage. The despicable indigo color that pours forth would give you much more pleasure if it were coming from your kismesis, you decide. However, while you have her this close, your elbow invades her abdomen.   
  
Air rushes forth from blackened lips and yellowed with a harsh exhalation. By the time the mace is approaching your field of view again, you have already stepped back and brought up your clubs. It ricochets harmlessly off one as you snap forward the other into an armored knee. Face still expressionless, the drone flings a hidden dagger at your own leg. The blade is not poisoned. You take the minor annoyance of a wound and give her knee another good wallop.   
  
Finally, she goes down. Crumpling to one side, she loses her grip on her weapon and ends up sprawled on the dirt. You approach without fear, knowing that the fight is done. When you stand over her, you finally get a bit of emotion out of the drone. Her eyes are filled with impotent rage. With the end of one club, you tilt up her chin so she can see your wicked grin.  
  
She snarls at you then.   
  
"Too little, too late," you admonish and then bring down your second weapon onto her head.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
In the aftermath of the battle, you help fling bodies off of the walls of the fort. Mundane, if morbid, work, but it kept your mind off of other, less pleasant things. The ground beneath the walls is already filling with piles, which would be more concerning if you did not see the inky figures darting about the nearby brush. Creatures of the plains enjoying a free meal. It would be a lot less disturbing if you had not noticed that some of those figures were shaped like trolls.   
  
Some trolls go mad and kill themselves. Some go mad and kill others. Most trolls who go mad become ferals. Ferals look like trolls, they really do, but they are not. They can talk and walk and fight and eat- all the functions are the same. Yet if you put a bunch of trolls in a room with a feral they could quickly point it out. There is just something horribly _off_ about them. Maybe it is their wide, unblinking eyes. Perhaps it is their jagged grin, smiling about nothing at all. Mostly you think it has to do that when a sentient being loses all reason, a sort of sixth-sense kicks in and starts screaming for you to either kill it or run.   
  
Someone, perhaps it was your dearest Terezi, had once scoffed that ferals are not to be treated as trolls since they had lost that bit of brainmatter that makes trolls different from beasts. They had even gone as far as to say that they were less than beasts themselves, let alone lusii. You see something differently about them. A feral is not afraid of pain or death. A feral kills viciously and wantonly anything that it wants. Most of all, a feral's mind seems to operate in a completely different way than a normal troll's thinkpan, as if they do not see point A goes to point B then point C, but rather a jumbled mess where point Q may start and go to spot 8 then sashay towards J.   
  
It reminds you of your own mind at times.   
  
"You look like a jarhead trying too hard to think," Crimson interrupts your musing on your similarities to the scurrying figures below. He notes what you are looking out at, "Sad little buggers."  
  
"Sad?" you raise an eyebrow.  
  
"Aren't they? They used to be trolls once, you know."  
  
You watch one make off with what looks to be a whole limb as a prize, "They don't know sadness, brother. They don't know much things these days, but the motherfucking mercy of it is they don't know that either."  
  
"Hmm, I suppose that's true." He shifts uneasily on his feet, "I always sort of wondered whether it happens slowly or all at once. Becoming a feral, I mean. And if they are aware of the process. Wouldn't it suck to know it is happening and not be able to do anything about it?"  
  
You blink, "Huh. Guess I'd never wrapped my thinkpan around it like that. Regardless, it's more envy than pity I feel towards them. They're free and don't even realize it. No fear. No chucklevoodoo. I tried once. Feral didn't even glance in my direction. She kept rippin apart that drone's carcass like it was the wrapping on a fun new toy. Ain't ever found a troll who could brush me off with such ease."  
  
"I suppose being insane would predispose one to not having a lot of fears," he shrugs, uneasy. With one last glance at the figures below, he frowns and turns away, "In a different life, that could have been you or me."  
  
You laugh, hard and loud, "Brother, that could _still_ be you or me. As long as we're living and breathing, that is. This war ain't done yet, and there's a lotta motherfuckers left to kill. It's a long way to paradise, you know?"  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
When the runner arrives at Fort Ironside, you are reclining on what you assume to be General Ironside's throne. At least you hope he was the only motherfucker big enough to need the mammoth chair; otherwise you might have a hell of a fight later. There is a tickle in the back of your mind as you watch her movements. She's nervous. She's _afraid_.   
  
You squash your urge to summon your chucklevoodoos and instead ask, "What be the news, sister?"  
  
"I regret to inform you that we lost thirty trolls on Sire Vantas's front," she gnaws at her bottom lip. "One of whom apparently was Lady Kanaya Maryam."   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
By the time the second messenger finds you, you are halfway back to the main camp. Your only thought at hearing the news was that you had to get to him. To lose one's moirail is a terrible thing, but to have lost her so soon after finding her would be cruel beyond belief for your little matesprit. If he survived the battle he obviously did not go into a full-blown bloodrage. However, that did not mean that he is anywhere near okay.   
  
"Lord Makara!" calls out the teenager astride his Ramdad. "A report from the Cerulean Castle! Sire Vantas and his moirail are alright. Cerulean would like to apologize for any distress the previous report might have caused. He sites something called 'rare-blooded bullshit' on what happened."  
  
"...Kanaya's alive?" your mind halts for a moment.  
  
"Erm, I'm just going to say that she is up and ready to fight again," the kid balks. "Anyway, I have to reach Fort Ironside next. Please be careful on your journey; there were a few bandits on the road."  
  
As you watch him ride away, you wonder what could have happened. It is not like Cerulean to send reports without thoroughly checking the facts. And this definitely was not anywhere near harmless enough to be one of his infamous pranks. What could it be? Some sort of psychic interference playing with his senses? "Rare-blooded bullshit" pointed to something else, though.   
  
No matter. You still want to see your matesprit. You want to hold him and know that he is alright. While you are there you can see whatever it is that has happened with his moirail. Then Cerulean and his moirail. Then... thirty trolls. There is no way that none of those trolls were a Subjuggulator. You wonder which of your guards are left remaining. You wonder how many will be left at the end of this revolution.  
  
Too much thinking.  
  
With a lurch, you start running again. At least when you are flashstepping through the landscape your mind is somewhat occupied (not exactly fighting, but it will do). Otherwise all those little niggling worries and doubts move in and set up shop. This way is so much simpler. Tree, go right. Tree, dodge again. Rock, leap over. Whoops, clipped that one. Tree, move left. Another tree. Troll?  
  
You come to a screeching halt to double-check what you just tripped over. It is indeed a troll. Judging from his clothing, he likely was one of the bandits that the runner had come across. Nearby you spot two other bodies sprawled out. They look malnourished and stunted to you- likely kids who had turned to robbing others to survive. Pupas in a horrible position. (Pupas just like the ones you left back in the desert.)   
  
Part of you wants to do some sort of tribute for these kids, but your hall of paintings is far behind you. Probably scraped off the walls by the drones who had routed you from your hive. Ignorant idiots desecrating your grand hall without realizing what any of it meant. It makes you sick. So instead you do the only thing you can do. You keep running. You keep the thoughts at bay. At least, for awhile.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
In this distance, the Cerulean Castle looks just as foreboding as you remember. Like Serket's layer it has plenty of towers and spires, but the entire thing is built onto the peak of a lone outcropping of rock that reaches far into the sky. The result is a crumbling castle a thousand feet in the air held together by a wish and a prayer. You have to give the blueblood credit; no one would dare to take such a structure while it was inhabited. Then again, you are pretty sure anyone living up there had to have suicidal tendencies. Literally as you think that, a chunk of wall breaks off and comes crumbling down the mountain.  
  
"Jegus Christ, Cerulean wasn't kidding about this place," you huff to yourself. What you remember your guard mentioning about his lands is that it was very windy, often cold and barren for large parts of the year, and the castle was constantly falling down around his horns. He jokingly (or perhaps not, now that you see it) said that he left for the good of his health and also his friend Violet refused to go more than halfway up the mountain. You are starting to believe the violetblood is the most reasonable troll in your entire army and she is literally an emissary to the horrorterrors now. Now that you think of it, Jade had mentioned several times that this place would be the death of her and her moirail.  
  
Still, your matesprit is somewhere up there in that death trap of a hive. So you climb. You scramble from ledge to ledge, finding footholds in the strangest of places. There are easier ways up the mountain, but those take longer than you would like. A guard in a small alcove clatters to attention when your head pops into view, but you wave her off as you continue to go upwards with the single-minded determination of a stubborn highblood. After a few slips and one short tumble, you finally have reached the peak of the mountain.   
  
"Whoa, Ga- Uh, Lord Makara," the owner of the ramshackle place looks at you worriedly as you catch your breath. "You _do_ know there's an actual road that comes up here, right?" He points over one shoulder where two Subjugulators lounge with weapons at the ready.  
  
You eye him disdainfully, "I just took a shortcut is all."  
  
"Riiiiight," he scratches the back of his head. "So, uh, I'm really hoping right now that Peatro found you and you didn't run all the way here because Miss Maryam is dead. Because that would be horribly awkward. And also I would like to know if I need to start running."  
  
"Peace," you wave a hand at him as you straighten back up. "She's some sort of alright and that's all that matters. How's he?"  
  
"Taking it rather well, considering. Stays within arms reach of her, but I can hardly blame him of that. Most of the troops are either being way too invasive or actively avoiding her. Jade is also quite smitten now and constantly pestering Miss Maryam for stories."  
  
Huh. That is quite strange. "Wait... when you mentioned rare-blooded bullshit to the runner motherfucker, what exactly did you mean to get your tell on about?"  
  
"Oh. Uh. Miss Maryam... she's, uh... a caverns jadeblood," comes the reluctant reply.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"A rainbowdrinker," you state, too shocked to even disbelieve what you are seeing.  
  
"Yeah, it kind of came as a fucking surprise because, surprise! She didn't even tell her fucking moirail about this!" Karkat complains. "Ugh! You would not believe the amount of hoofbeastshit with the troops. Legendary amounts of hoofbeastshit, Gamz! No fewer than four of your Subjuggulators have come to me because they 'aren't comfortable' being in the same hive as her. What do you even call people who go around collecting barrels of blood to paint hallways who are afraid of a decent troll because she happens to drink it? Hypocrites is what I call them!"  
  
"Karkat, you are beginning to ramble with your rages again," gently points out the glowing jadeblood. Literally glowing. Her skin is emitting a white light as if it came from within. It is like some sort of weird joke that a deadly and sort of immortal predator of trollkind actually glows so it can blind its nocturnal prey. You only wish this was a joke.  
  
"Let me get this straight," you close your eyes for a moment. "Kanaya. You're a caverns jadeblood. I'm not even gonna motherfuckin all up and wonder how you found your way surfaceside. But you didn't tell anybody this very crucial information until _after_ you got up and shanked? Err, got shanked and then got up I suppose is the way to say it. Got back up, anyway."  
  
"I felt that it was not necessary to share," she primly replies. "I can still be killed the same as any other jadeblood. It is just perhaps a smidge harder to _keep_ me dead. I never planned on this to happen; I am most careful in all engagements to prevent unnecessary injuries, let alone death. I also foolishly thought that the tales of caverns jadebloods were mostly hyperbole. I did not want to worry anyone with something that would never come to pass."  
  
You sigh, "Okay. Okay, at least we know now. Everyone will calm the fuck down when they see you being the same amazing motherfucker you have always been. Until then, I'm going to see about what we can do to keep this place from fallin off the side of the mountain while we're still in it. As bitchtits as a ride that would be, I imagine it would put a damper on our plans."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
They come in the middle of the day.  
  
After you had convinced yourself that your matesprit and his moirail are indeed alive (or alive-ish) and well, you had allowed yourself to get roped into making Cerulean Castle more defensible. This included getting a certain goldblood asshole to fortify the crumbling foundation and walls. Of course, Captor had the help of a few other psychics, but the psiionic is just in his own category when it comes to ridiculous amounts of psychic power. You aided them by coordinating their work and providing brute strength where some muscle was needed.   
  
The result left you exhausted and camping down in a slapped-together pile of gravel and small rocks for the day. So when you are rudely awoken by a nearby scream that suddenly gets cut off, you are distinctly more groggy than usual. Luckily you are a half-decent fighter even when in such a condition (you used go to battles half high on sopor once upon a time) and you manage to snap a club up just in time to deflect a curved sword. Even as you kick the troll away and into a wall, you rub the sleep out of your eyes with your empty fist.  
  
What you see is the hallway half-full of Imperial troops. Not drones, but smaller mid-blood motherfuckers used primarily for cannon fodder and pissing highbloods like you off on the battlefield. Unfortunately you also see quite a few of your psychics' corpses littering the ground where they had slept. That certainly does more to wake you than rubbing your eyes.   
  
With a roar, you flashstep into the nearest enemy and splatter her all over the wall. Before the others can so much as turn to where you reappeared, you have taken down two more soldiers. As all eyes turn to you as the biggest threat, the commotion you are causing starts to rouse the psychics who are left. Once they realize what is happening, the battle turns pretty quickly. After all, there is a reason that these midblood losers attempted to take out all the lowbloods while they were sleeping. Even a single psychic can be devastating on the battlefield.  
  
It takes only a few minutes for the lot of you to clear out the invaders. At the end of it, you feel distinctly unsatisfied. Trolls who were bold enough to storm a castle belonging to a highblood should at least be able put up more of a fight. People fill the hallways as the rest of the guards awake. With no enemies left, they quickly begin searching the rest of the hive for intruders as well as start plans for fortifying the mountain. There is something niggling at the back of your mind still...  
  
"Has anyone seen Jade?" Cerulean is wringing his hands as he weaves through the crowd. "Jade? Seriously not the time to be pulling a revenge prank, Jade. Jade?" You stop him as he reaches where you are at the end of the hall, "Hey Gamz. I can't. I can't find Jade anywhere. Do you know where she is?"   
  
"Shit," you sigh. "Shit, Jade was all up on sentry duty outside, bro." Which meant, of course, that she would have been one of the very first casualties. To prevent others from sounding an alarm, the invaders would not have overlooked a single troll.   
  
His eyes slide to the side, still trying to avoid the truth, "Are you sure? She might have been inside- you know how she hates to be up so high on the mountain. There are a few other places I still-"  
  
"Look motherfucker, let's go find her then," you interrupt with no small amount of trepidation. The problem with having so many guards and underlings is that inevitably it turns into a full-scale disaster whenever there are casualties. What starts off with only a few deaths trickles through quadrants to become crippling to a large number of trolls. It does not help that Jade was one of your best Subjuggulators. A little wild, perhaps, but you liked her all the more for it. You will be hard pressed to find a replacement for her position in the most-trusted inner guard.   
  
Sure enough, after you are dragged along through half the hive, you find Jade lying outside under the light of the setting sun. Ignoring the burns that will surely come as a result, Cerulean sidles over to her still body and very carefully kneels down. With a small frown, he brushes the wild locks away from her face. His hand comes away slicked in jade green blood. Something about him subtly changes as he stands.   
  
"Well, darn," he says, eyes dull. "I guess that's it then."  
  
You stiffen slightly. You recognize that tone, that particular set to his shoulders. For being the calmest and most level-headed of the highbloods you dealt with, Cerulean had one very large drawback. He did not have bloodrages. By this time, your little matesprit has tucked himself up against your side. However, he does not realize what is about to happen and takes offense to the nochalant manner in which the blueblood speaks.  
  
"'That's it then'? Your moirail is dead and all you have to say is 'that's it then'?" he incredulously questions. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"   
  
"Karkat!" you hiss out a warning. Cerulean does not have bloodrages. Your mind stalls when you reach out with your chucklevoodoos and hit an impenetrable wall. Shit.  
  
"Well gee-whiz! I didn't realize you cared so much about some random guards, Karkat! Why, that's downright congenial of you, mister Suffererkin!" the creepy smile begins to form. Oh, how you absolutely hate that grin.   
  
"You're my friends, asshole! I don't know how you could have missed it, but I actually do give a shit what happens to you guys, which is why you are starting to worry me. What are you even smiling abou-"   
  
The first attack comes out of nowhere, but you were already expecting it as soon as you saw that horribly empty look to the blueblood's eyes. His garish rainbow-painted hammer connects to one of your clubs in a resounding crack as you parry the blow away from your matesprit. In a blink of an eye, the two of you have clashed twice more and you get a lucky hit on the motherfucker and send him soaring a dozen yards or so into a pile of rubble.   
  
He gets back up, as chipper as ever, "That was not very polite, now was it? Just let me up and help spread the love to one of my very own motherfucking _friends_ , Makara." His head twitches violently, along with one of his eyes. "Whoops! Excuse my language! You have been a bad influence, by golly! But don't worry! You'll be so much happier when you're like me!"   
  
"What. The fuck. Is wrong with him?" Karkat's crimson eyes are huge as they stare at what was once his friend.   
  
"He doesn't get bloodrages," you finally manage to spit out the problem. "Cerulean was _infected_ when he was younger. Negative emotions turn into... this. He doesn't get mad. He gets _glad_. He goes into full-on motherfucking Trickster-mode."   
  
"Aaaand this means he is now going to try to kill us?" eyebrows scrunch together. "He is happy so he is trying to kill us? That makes no sense!"  
  
"No, he's gonna try to spread the virus and make us into gleeful murder-happy motherfuckers just like him.... which may or may not kill us in the process. Jade never was very clear on that point."  
  
"Wait, _Jade_ knew about this?" he manages to ask as the abomination lunges forward again.   
  
You do not have time to answer, instead concentrating on keeping the head of the hammer away from anything particularly squishy such as your unarmored quadrantmate. Cerulean's grin is so wide it looks like it should break his face. Honestly you do not normally mind that one of your best guards is a ticking time bomb of creepily overly-optimistic energy. It is just one of the many quirks that came with being the Grand Highblood, leader of the Subjuggulators. You do not even mind that he is trying to kill you; in fact there are very few of your friends who have not attempted to murder you at some point.   
  
There is one thing that bothers you.  
  
He is laughing as he tries to kill you. Giggling, in fact. If you did not know any better, you would think that he had just managed to complete some great prank of epic proportions that would send his pranksters gambit sky-high for decades. Even as you slam a club into him, the wheeze of air still sounds of laughter. He gets up again and again and again, constantly battering you with attacks as he chuckles. Tears stream down his face, making his smile seem manic.    
  
Having enough of this, Karkat darts forward with his sickles in hand. You try to cover for him, but there is only so much you can do against a blueblood's strength when there is a fucking warhammer involved. Both of you end up going flying backwards into the castle wall. At least you had managed to take the brunt of the hit. Still, that had distinctly sounded like the snap of bone. When you glance over, Karkat's arm is at an odd angle and his face is set into a grimace. Oh fuck no.   
  
"Hehehe it's just so funny, you know?" Cerulean is saying as he slowly approaches. When two guards intervene, he swats them away impatiently and continues, "I dunno why, hehehe, but even though I want to scream and shout, hehe, I can't stop laughing. Hehehehehe why can't I stop laughing?"  
  
"Bro, you need calm your motherfucking ass down before I have to _put_ you down, capisce?" you attempt to reach him. His head slowly shakes once, and he reaches for his forehead (you do not envy the migraine he must have). Then he sees the green stains on his hand. Jade's blood on his hands. As quick as can be he starts giggling again. You barely manage to get your clubs in front of you to deflect the attack.   
  
"Hehehe, just let me give you a bonk," he says before he starts to singsong, "You'll be happy~ oh so happy~ when you come with me!! You'll be happy~ oh so happy~ if you just say yes!!"  
  
You deadlock weapons with him, snarling down into a face that is not all that low anymore. Though the smile is still on his face, his eyes are filled with pain. If only there ever had been a way to snap him out of these annoying phases that did not involve Jade literally disabling him via well-aimed rifle fire until he collapsed from exhaustion. There is no way that you can keep up a close-range fight for the next five or six hours. More, depending on if he relapses as soon as he sees his moirail's dead body again.   
  
A splash of blue liquid interrupts your thoughts.   
  
Looking down, you see a blade protruding from Cerulean's abdomen. With a mighty heave, the glowing jadeblood rips her sword to the side and cleaves the highblood neatly in two. He flops to the ground in slow motion, and part of you is glad that you did not have to deliver the killing blow. Fleeting flushcrush or not, it is terribly hard to murder someone you once pitied. As Kanaya kicks the hammer away from his loose grasp, you crouch down beside his upper half.   
  
"Hehehe, I always knew, hehe, that I would die laughing," coughs the guard.   
  
"We all guessed that," you tell him. "Just always figured I would be culling your ass for one of your inane pranks instead of... this."  
  
"Darn shame," he agrees amicably. "Hehehe, make it quick."  
  
You oblige him.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"Is there any hope for her?" he asks, touching your elbow gently.  
  
You look down at the body of your friend, mutilated and broken. Although she was not in any of your quadrants, you still are saddened by her ubrupt passing. You try to imagine what it would be like if Terezi had been in her place... what you would have done in Cerulean's stead. Suddenly you realize you are very glad that you did not have to find out today. It still does not make you feel any better about the blue staining your clubs.   
  
You sigh, "Jade wasn't a caverns troll. She was just a regular surface jadeblood like there is every now and again. She's gone, Karkat. They both are."  
  
Kanaya frowns, "I am sorry for your loss, but he was clearly going to keep attacking until someone stopped him. I considered it prudent to do so before he managed to spread his peculiar affliction to anyone else."  
  
"Jade warned me about that," you admit. "Only ever seen him do this once, and she kept him holed up until he eventually came to his motherfucking self or something. Shot both his legs so he couldn't keep attacking the rest of the guards and then sat on his chest like a Hunterrorist getting a portrait done with their greatest catch."  
  
"I... I don't want to talk about this," admits your matesprit. "This is extremely depressing, and I just want to leave now."  
  
"Of course," you acquiesce. "Let's go get things set up here so we can return to the main camp. We've... got a lotta catching up to do with the others. And a lot more fighting to do."  
  
"I can't wait until it's all over," Karkat murmurs as his moirail leads him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. its been awhile. uh.... im guessin that you all can tell what made this chapter so hard to write. the song cerulean was starting to sing [You'll Be Happy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFmKtXsXijE)
> 
> there will be more deaths. this is war after all. you have been warned. krisander out


	26. Karkat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning- character death ahead

Crimson takes the deaths of Jade and Cerulean about as well as you could expect.  
  
His stone-face crumples and he flash-steps away. His moirail takes the news scarily well. She simply grows very still and then quietly excuses herself, mentioning that he would need her. You wonder if part of this is related to being emissary to the Horrorterrors, but Violet has never been particularly open towards you. They may not have been in any of her quadrants, but Jade and Cerulean were her hatchmates and stupid-color-name buddies. You kind of expected something... more.  
  
"Shiiiit," your matesprit draws out the word. "I think we oughta put Violet on the front lines, my sister. Otherwise she's liable to up and tear some of us to shreds."  
  
"Agreed," Terezi sighs. "This is most unfortunate. If we had only listened-"  
  
"Jade always said a lotta things that made no sense," cuts in Gamzee. "How were we supposed to get our motherfucking know on about her actually having a creepy premonition of their deaths? She was joke-smiling about it, too."  
  
"Excuse me?" you frown. "What the fuck are you even talking about?"  
  
"Jade used to say that Cerulean Castle would be the death of her and her moirail," explains the tealblood matter-of-factually. "Of course, she used to say a lot of things like that, so we never considered..."  
  
"That she would actually be right," you finish. "Whelp. I guess that answers that question." You take a deep breath, steady yourself, "Okay. So we lost a lot of good trolls. Cerulean and Jade's deaths might have hit us a bit harder, but they weren't the only ones to fall. Now. Are we going to let their sacrifice be entirely in vain as we tuck our tails between our legs and drown in our own misery or are we actually going to rally together? What's next, Terezi?"  
  
Even as the Legislacerator frowns, your bodyguard pipes up, "I agree with Vantas. This is not the time to mourn. This is the time to consolidate power in preparation for another attack."  
  
That gets everyone's attention.  
  
"Are you saying that we should expect more raids?" Kanaya finally speaks up.  
  
"That does make sense," the Purifier mulls aloud. "The first strike was a test. It was mostly midbloods that were in the raid, right? Well, it was probably a sort of experiment. See how we would react, how strong we actually are, how many losses we would incur. There might have even been a psychic or two nearby to observe and report. Next will be the real deal, striking multiple places at once with real drones to try and crush the revolution. That's how I would do it anyway."  
  
"Great," you close your eyes for a moment before opening them again. "Just great. Fuck, she's right. We've spread too far and thin trying to keep a hold on these bases while also setting up a safe passage to the shore. Get everyone who isn't a spook or a scout into one of those forts. Double the number of guards on day-watch. Anything I'm forgetting?"  
  
Gamzee thumbs one of his horns, which makes your bloodpusher do weird flips, "Motherfuck. Soldiers aren't the only ones at an increased risk of a quick death."  
  
"We should probably get word out to any non-militant supporters," agrees the Devourer. "The Empress is not likely to leave a single troll who even has the possibility of being connected to this movement alive. She will attempt to squash the rebellion completely in one fell swoop."  
  
"Fan-fucking-tastic," your voice is gruff, but you really feel like crying.   
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
Slash-and-hack is not your preferred method of fighting, but there are just too many enemies to be any sort of elegant right now. You whirl, blades out, to get some breathing room and the trolls surrounding you either move the fuck out of the way or get some new wounds. Then suddenly a really long curved blade comes into view and a whole swatch of drones disappear. The snarling face of the Devourer (complete with those needle-like fangs) has never looked so handsome to you.   
  
As he positions himself by your side, you feel a lot better about your chances for survival. At least the odds went from 'no chance at all' to 'a snowball in Hell' so there is that. You wipe at the stream of blood that keeps dripping into your eyes with annoyance before lunging forward to introduce a blade into an arm joint. Blue fills your vision and you scuttle back to the relative safety of the giant seatroll's lee side.   
  
Someone jabs at you with a spear and you snap the wooden shaft between your two sickles with contempt. If they want to poke holes in your useless hide, they can come a bit closer and give you the opportunity to do the same. Luckily the scythe your ex-Imperial Drone uses has enough reach that he can take out the now unarmed foe. A crackle of psionic powers in the distance makes your fangs itch. Hopefully the blighted goldblood is at least taking out drones long-range; he never was much of a close quarters fighter. You briefly wonder when your life became such a raging shitstorm.   
  
In the blink of an eye, two Subbjuggulators have cut through the crowd and joined your duo, making your position slightly more defensible. One oliveblood stares briefly at your headwound as if realizing for the first time that yes, your blood is indeed bright fucking crimson red. Then she is cutting down a drone with a scimitar as if he had personally offended her, murdered her moirail, and then taken a shit on her moirail's favorite carpet. It is vaguely nice to know that you at least inspire a visceral hatred of drones upon sight.   
  
Slowly, the number of foes dwindles. Eventually you are standing surrounded by nothing but corpses and your guards. With no small amount of exhaustion, you look over your followers and determine that none of them require urgent aid. This is the third time you have been involved in a hive invasion, and you are still none too pleased with how they always seem to catch you off guard. Then comes the morbid parts- patching up the wounded, getting rid of the bodies, and waiting for reports from the other regiments.   
  
One by one, runners trickle in. The story is much the same for each of them. Base was attacked at sunset, many trolls were lost, but the invaders were defeated in the end. You breath a sigh of relief after the fourth such report. Thus far, none of your inner circle has died and the losses were not astronomical. At this point that is the most you can ask for.  
  
Then a twitchy little psychic teenager is brought to you, flanked by a pair of Subjuggulators. It takes some time to calm him down enough to give any sort of information. Sending away the highbloods helped. More so than that is probably the sight of your bright crimson wounds.   
  
"Take your time," you placate. "No rush. Just let me know when you are ready what it is that has happened."  
  
Taking a deep breath, the messenger sadly informs you, "Sire, one of the desert communes has fallen."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"There's a trial going on that we should probably attend," introduces your favorite goldblood as a non-sequitur to an empty lull in the conversation. As you turn to give him your very best _what-the-fuck-are-you-on-about?_ look, he continues, "They are going to be sentencing supporters of the Second Sufferer. And... Kar the voices are pretty fucking familiar."  
  
A chill runs down your spine.  
  
"Who," is all you manage to rasp out.   
  
"There's unfortunately a lot of background noise, so it's hard to say for sure," he waffles. "There's a vaguely familiar voice alone and then a giant surge. I think maybe a guard or supporter or someone else I've met in this madness. Followed by some sort of massacre or mass execution."  
  
"That sounds most unfortunate," carefully words the Legislacerator, "but I see no reason why we should attend. From what I understand, there is no way we can save the doomed once you hear their voices."  
  
The mutant only bows his head, accepting this fact. Still, he was the one who had brought it up in the first place. It probably was important to him for some reason. A familiar voice means that it is someone you know as opposed to some random follower, but even if it were not a friend you find it hard to imagine ignoring something as blatant as a mass execution. Regrouping from the recent attacks has been hard on everyone, but even worse is not knowing who exactly had survived. No wonder it is important to Sollux. As you think about it, you realize that it might be important to you as well.   
  
"Even if we cannot save them, I want to be there," you state.   
  
Gamzee begins to frown, "There is nothing you can motherfucking do to help them, my dearest. I think it'd be best if you didn't up and expose your ocularglobes to more horrors you can't forget."  
  
You stare him down, "These people are dying in my name. The least I can do is carry on their memories."  
  
The Devourer shifts beside you, "It will require some planning with the spooks, but I think we can arrange something."  
  
"I still don't like this," Terezi hisses.  
  
"Too bad," you tell her. "I'm going with or without you guys. This is not a point of discussion. As the figurehead of this movement and apparently a religious idol reborn, I have every right and reason to be there. I will not let our followers die alone or in vain."  
  
Crimson heaves a shuddering sigh, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna go, too."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
There is a giant platform set up on the edge of town just for the occasion.   
  
There are lines of drones surrounding the wooden platform itself, and quite a few officers are waiting on the raised area. To one end are ancient stone columns with ominous red glowing lines. Squinting, you realize that they are red-hot chains. Oh. This is literally the same sort of torture execution that turned the Signless into the Sufferer. Whoever they had captured, they were apparently important enough to require a public and very prolonged death.  
  
"Here we have some supporters of the supposed Second Sufferer," the big burly drone announces as your heart literally freezes in your chest. You knew those stupid bull horns. Oh. Oh Gods no. It was true after all.   
  
As Olly is led up the ramp, psychic-blocking helmet on and iron bars so thick they'd probably even hold Equius, a violetblood officer steps forward. "This one is one Apollo Ollopa, also known as Olly Oxenfree, wanted for numerous and sinister crimes against the Empire. Besides being a Doombringer," he pauses to allow planted supporters in the crowd to boo, "he also has routinely maimed and murdered the Empire's finest, aided and abetted subjects up for cull, and committed other charges that shall now be listed. Smuggling, escaping an Empire prison, impersonating an officer of the Imperial Guard, impersonating a clergy of the Church of Mirthful Messiahs-" Here Olly interrupts with a snort-laugh that seems at odds with the situation, but he calms himself and gestures for the man to continue, "...arson, kidnapping, perjury, piracy, pilfering, deprivation of an Empire Loyalist. For these crimes you will be hung by the heated Iron Bars until dead. Do you have any last words?"   
  
Eyes glinting dangerously, he grins, "Down with the Empire!"   
  
"Put him in the stocks," the man firmly orders over the uproar of the crowd.   
  
The two drones (not all that much taller than the kid is these days) wrench his arms above his head and attach the iron bars to the waiting red chains. It does not take long for the glow to start to spread to the manacles around his wrists. Ever the proud fighter, he simply snarls and kicks one of the drones hard enough to knock him from the raised platform. You wish you had not come. Even here in the back of the crowd with a large hood and shades, your breath catches in your throat when a drone glances over you. Then you immediately hate yourself even more because Olly is literally being slowly executed in the most painful manner the Empire can contrive and you are worried for your own safety. The only reason he is here is because of you.   
  
"Bring forth the second prisoner!" the drone calls out. You are not sure where is worse to look. The horrified, pole-axed expression on Olly's face or the small, battered frame of his moirail being roughly shoved towards the platform. You realize that he probably did not even know that they had Syl as well. Your bloodpusher aches in your chest. An arm wraps around your shoulders and you do not feel the least bit comforted.  
  
"Sylara Talvar, moirail to Apollo Ollopa and dangerous limeblood," sneers the violetblood as your thinkpan freezes. (Limeblood? Since when? HOLY SHIT!) "The charges against you are similar to those of your moirail, for failure to keep him in check, as well as the assassinations of the following nobles: Lord Thippi, Baroness Kratos, the Murderer, all ten members of the Imperial Overseers, General Ironside, and Orphaner Dualscar. For these crimes you will be hung by the heated Iron Bars until dead. Do you have any last words?"   
  
"I will die on my own terms," she states, chin held high and stance firm. "Olly, be good."   
  
"Fuck, Syl, don't-"  
  
But whatever he was going to say is drowned out by the most horrendous screeching noise you have ever heard in your entire life (including an infuriated Terezi's yowling and Gl'bgolyb herself). The trolls surrounding Sylara literally drop dead, bleeding from every orifice as she continues to scream. The rest of the drones on the platform are recoiling, attempting to put distance between themselves and the unholy noise. One drunkenly manages to roll off into the crowd, but another simply slumps to the ground and clutches at his helm. Holy shit. All this time, she was a psychic? None of you had even known she was a limeblood until a few moments ago, let alone a psychic!   
  
Completely unaffected by this attack (thanks to a helm pilfered from Equius of all people), Olly is starting to freak out. He kicks out and scrabbles uselessly with his legs, unable to get free with both his arms pinned in the searing handcuffs. You realize why he is so hellbent on getting loose when you see the Archeradicators forming ranks well outside of Syl's range of power. No, oh no. You are moving without thinking, knowing that you have to get there. You have to stop this. This is all your fau-  
  
The arrows fly.   
  
Someone with strong arms grabs you and holds you to them. You do not even know who it is, nor do you care. Oh. Oh no. This cannot be happening. They protect you from the buffeting crowd, trolls milling about in a panic.   
  
Knocked back a step, the little greenblood's voice falters but does not stop. The four shafts emerging from her shoulder, torso, and abdomen look like burnt trees. The image sears itself into your mind, and you know you will never be able to sleep a day again without seeing it. The archers are notching more arrows. Your bilesac feels like its about to explode. This is wrong- it is all wrong!  
  
Olly is screaming too, now. His legs kick at the pillar and finally he gets one behind him. Arching his back, he pushes and strains and screams bloody murder. A sickening crack is heard above the cacophony of everyone flipping out. Still enraged, he slams his head backwards into the pillar. And again. And again. Cracks begin to appear in the helm as another volley is sent towards his moirail. This time, Sylara is driven to her knees, gasping for air as she stares directly at Olly.  
  
"S-Syl!" he freezes for a moment, eyes wide. Then he redoubles his efforts, bellowing low and loud like only a pissed-off blueblood can. You feel the reverberations in your bones. As he struggles, the archers prepare another round. Fuck can any of these assholes actually aim? Flailing, the indigoblood's body literally arcs sideways in the air and a second snap is heard. One arm now free, the manacles are no longer attached to the chains and he hits the ground moving. For a moment, you are certain he will not make it in time. However, he slides to a stop in front of her, attempting to shield her from the incoming arrows. He does.   
  
Your vision is swirling and hazy as he rips the battered, almost broken helm from his head. Oh _fuck_! He screeches that almost-too-high-to-be-heard screech and you immediately feel the ground tremble beneath your feet. You realize Olly knows they are going to die, but he is bound and determined to take as many of the Empire's supporters down with him as possible. A sandworm bursts from the ground and swallows half of the platform along with most of the archers. Shit your crew had better get out of here as fast as possible and yet... you don't want to leave here without them.  
  
"I can't take this anymore!" Sollux exclaims, and suddenly he is floating above the crowd. One arm outstretched, the familiar blue and red pulsating lights surround the two young trolls. With the other arm he breaks off the pillar near the base and throws it into the ranks of the Imperial Guards.   
  
"Shit! Go, just go! Everyone move!" you find yourself yelling. "Give them cover!"  
  
In the chaos, you are tucked neatly under an arm and rushed away, down through darkened allies and crumbling structures towards one of the side roads. Looking up, you see the grim face of the Devourer. He slides to a stop next to a covered wagon, carefully glancing about before placing you inside. Before you can even argue, Crimson is getting shoved into the cart with you, the Purifier's smile nowhere to be seen as she snaps at her fellow bodyguard how much of a bad idea this was and how much she totally platonically hated him.   
  
Gamzee is suddenly there, appearing in a way that suggested he just flashstepped a great distance. His eyes glance over you, looking for injuries, and then he turns, "Do we have to bring those motherfuckers in this wagon?"  
  
"They're fucking dying you prick just move," Sollux snarls, full of venom. He shoves past the highblood, floating the two teenagers into the wagon and climbing in after them. "Let's go, people. We probably don't want to be anywhere near here for awhile. Olly's pets are ripping this town to shreds still."   
  
"Shit, Olly!" Crimson moves forward, but stops when the kid growls at him. The wagon shifts into motion, the lusii finally getting a clue and getting you all out of the area.   
  
He is still curled around his moirail, gripping as tightly as he can with one hand literally in blood ribbons. Holy shit. He had broken and torn his hand nearly off to get free. To get to her. There are still arrow shafts sticking out of his back. His eyes are red and blind and unseeing- you realize he is completely out of it. Syl, despite having arrows riddling her body, manages to raise a hand and pap his nose softly. A few blinks and the red scleras are already turning more yellow.   
  
"Th-there, there," she coughs painfully. "I think... this is the end of the road... for me... this t-time."  
  
"You don't say," he manages to deadpan while his eyes fill with blue tears. "I'll be r-right behind ya, love."  
  
"Olly, be a dear... and s-sing that song... for me."  
  
He snuffles once, "As you wish." Without even so much as a glance around, he opens his mouth and out comes a voice that is a little husky but still bright and beautiful and totally at odds with this banged up, violent blueblood you thought you knew, " _The other daaaay, dear, as I lay sleeeeeping, I dreamt I helllld you in my arrrms. When I awoooke, dear, I was mistaaaaken, and I huuung my head and cried... You are my moooonshiiiiine, my only moooonshiiiiine. You make me haaappy when skies are greeey. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Pleeease doonn't take my moooonshine away_... Syl? Hey, Syl. Come on now, I've not even finished. Rude."   
  
You look away, unable to bear the sight of him softly patting her face, pleading without words for her to come back for just a little longer. Then he sighs, "Fuck. Guess it's time to finally punch Dia." There is a soft thump of a body collapsing. You start to turn to look, but your blighted, beloved matesprit grabs you and gently pulls you towards him.   
  
"I didn't want this," you whisper into his chest. No one replies.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"There is good news and bad news," your moirail says.   
  
You turn away from the runner who had been yammering in your ear for the past half-hour, "Wait, what?"  
  
Kanaya smiles, "If I could distract you for a moment from your duties, I would like to show you something."  
  
"Sure," you immediately agree. When the jadeblood pads off, you follow. It is nice to be able to drop your leadership duties if only for a moment. Especially for someone as important as your moirail. She leads you far into the fortress, down into an area that you thought had little to no use at the moment. She disappears through one of the cell doors of the dungeon, murmuring something to the two guards stationed outside. They let you pass as well, and you pause to take in the room.  
  
The cell has a recuperacoon that has obviously been recently moved in, splashes of sopor slime on the floor only now starting to dry. In the recuperacoon is a figure with a bulk metal helm and a pair of forward-pointing hoofbeast horns that makes your bloodpusher skip a beat. Although he is covered in bandages and his left arm ends prematurely into a stump, Olly is breathing.   
  
"How?" you glance at your moirail, eyes wide.  
  
"Highbloods are particularly sturdy and hard to kill," she points out. "Although he was quite severely injured and we could not repair the damage done to his hand, the good news is that he is still alive."  
  
"And Syl?"   
  
Her expression answers enough, "...That would be the bad news."  
  
Your bloodpusher grows cold in your chest, "Shit. Shit, Kanaya, you should have let him die. She was the only thing keeping him from going full-blown feral. He won't make it a single night without her and you know it."  
  
"Your favorite mutant has some sort of plan," admits the jadeblood. "I am not sure even he knows the extent of the thing he is proposing, but he said something about needing a Doombringer to call in a favor. I must admit that I am not exactly thrilled with the idea of leaving this poor soul in his hands, but there is little else we can do."  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
"- what we are going for, right?" the goldblood mutant is asking.   
  
Beside him the highblood stares at the stump of his arm, "Oh, they'll know. Just. I don't think anyone's ever been dumb enough to try. But you're right, I am and I will do it _gladly_." The way he purr-growls that last word lets you know that while Olly's physical form may have survived the execution, the rest of him died with his moirail. What stands next to your best friend is a monster in a troll shape, formed by the worst that Alternia had to offer. It makes your throat tighten just to see him.  
  
Sollux spots you, "Oh, hey KK. There are some guests who will be arriving shortly. Don't worry, we've got everything under control. Olly, why don't you go gather them up? No need to cause a panic among the troops."   
  
"Panic and chaos are fun," grumbles the teenager, but he leaves the two of you alone all the same.  
  
"Sol," you begin, tone warning.  
  
"I know what I'm doing, KK," he promises. "Sort of. The tomes I could find were somewhat vague on large portions of this, but apparently Olly knows what needs to be done."  
  
"Sol, shit, you can't just save a kid from a death that would have been a lot kinder and force him to keep living," you rub your forehead. "Has he even eaten anything since he came to? Or slept? It's been over a week, and none of us appreciate how cagey you are being. It's great that you finally stopped one of the voices in your head from dying, but this is going too far."  
  
He stares at you a moment, "KK... Karkat... his voice never stopped screaming. He's doomed, through and through. He and I just happen to agree that if he has to die, he can try to do some good for the rest of us first. Also, he's pretty set on revenge right now."  
  
"Gamz won't even stand to be in the same room as the kid," you push. "He says things like 'it's unnatural' and 'so dark the hole is eating him' and all other sorts of disturbing shit. I think the fact Aradia and Tavros left in a huff probably says whatever you are up to is pretty fucking bad, considering they are amoral ghosts."  
  
"It's bad, but it's for a good cause," he stands his ground. "Sorry, Karkat. I know you're concerned about not just him, but trust me when I say I have things under control. Let the kid do this and then when the time comes, I can put him down myself if needed. Just let him finish this task first."  
  
You turn away, "You know, I never liked the sound of the phrase mercy cull. But for once, I'm thinking that perhaps it is the reasonable option." Then you head back upstairs where the rest of the revolution is waiting.  
  
*        *        *        *        *        *  
  
Your small band is following Olly through the desert. To be fair, a group of fellow Doombringers are between him and your guards and friends, but the point remains the same. All of you are plodding along behind the small highblood to a destination unknown. The six other trolls bearing the target sign probably know where it is you are going, but you haven't gathered the courage to actually talk to any of them. While Olly is insane, it is a familiar and usually goofy kind of crazy. The madness in these other trolls is strange and off-putting compared to him.   
  
"How did you even find this many?" Terezi's face is a grimace. "I'm pretty sure Doombringers are solitary creatures that don't play well with others."  
  
Sollux shrugs, "I didn't call them in, Olly did. Apparently they have ways of finding one another for this specific purpose. I can't really say much more than that."  
  
You eye the group, "It's fucking creepy how reverent they are towards him. Several are older than he is, and probably have just as illustrious histories. A couple are psychics far stronger than his empathy. So what is it that makes them look at him like that?"  
  
"I think it's because he's the one who made the call," the goldblood says. "In a way, whoever makes the call is the de facto leader for this little excursion. They're also the one who sets up the offering, from what I understand."  
  
"Offering?" your matesprit pipes up from behind you.   
  
"Honestly the books I found were very unclear, but the kid reassured me that he has everything taken care of," admits the four-horned troll. "I do know that this thing is not attempted very often. Something like twelve times, ever. In all of recorded history."  
  
"Great," the Legislacerator scoffs. "This will be lucky number thirteen then. If you all dragged us out here to the middle of nowhere just to have nothing happen, I am putting you both in the slammer."  
  
"Well, the giant spire says that we are probably at least in the right place," points out The Devourer.   
  
"Fair enough," grunts Terezi.   
  
By the time you all are at the spire, every nerve in your entire body is screaming at you that something is wrong. The unease is plain to see on all the faces surrounding you, actually. Yet when the mauled troll steps up to the stone slab and brushes off some sand, the rest of the Doombringers have expressions of mixed excitement and apprehension. You are glad to know that at least some people know what the Hell is going on around here. Even if the blood spilled on the tablet would have given you a queasy feeling, it quickly absorbed into the rock and vanished.  
  
What immediately appears is a lowblood woman, eyes rust red and curving ram horns larger than anything you have ever seen. With a flick of her wrist, she sends the Doombringers flying. All except Olly, who simply bowed his head and dug his feet into the sand, weathering the blast. Already The Devourer and Gamzee are in front of you, weapons raised and ready.  
  
However, she simply smirks, "Hello, little ones. What you want from mother?"  
  
"Handmaiden," the little highblood lifts his head. "We come asking for a favor."  
  
Her eyes flash, then dim, "Oh? Where offering?"

"I must ask before we give the offering," Olly holds firm. "Watashi wa kōgō no shisha o shitaidesu."

"Wareware wa, subete no koto o shitaidesu," the smirk grows. "Nozomi o kika sete."

"She killed my 'rail," the kid breaks back into words that make sense. "She killed my auspistice before I even met him. She'll keep killing and killing until we are all gone. So. I ask this of you, Handmaiden. Make. Her. PAY."

"Ā, watashi wa sore o okonau koto ga dekimasu," the woman concludes. "Good wish. Favor accepted. Pay up."

"Right," he nods. Then he pulls out a knife.

"Wait!" you rush to stop this madness, but you are held in place by a crackle of psionics.

"This is his choice," Sollux informs you. "The doomed can't last long anyway. Don't interfere, KK."

You are forced to do nothing but watch as the teenager (using his only hand) plunges the blade into his thorax. With a grunt, he drags it down. After a few tugs, he drops the weapon. The other Doombringers do not move, nor offer to help him with this grisly task. Taking a deep breath, probably his last, he plunges his hand into the cavity he carved out of his flesh. A sharp pull, and he is holding a lump of muscle that is still beating in his hand.

"Eat it. And. Grow strong," he manages to grit out, holding up the indigo bloodpusher as an offering.

"Holy shit," mutters The Devourer as the ancient lowblood psychic draws closer. She takes the still-beating organ and takes a bite out of it, the dark blue burst of blood making a grisly sight. The soft smile on the pupa's face would be called peaceful were it not for the circumstances. After the adult finishes her disgusting snack, she reaches her bloody hands forward to the teenager. In one swift movement, she snaps his neck, halting his labored breathing.

You watch, eyes wide, as his body crumples. After a brief moment, a pale form rises up from the body. You have never actually witnessed a ghost being formed, but that is what it looks like is happening. Then another globule of soft light blinks into existence a few feet away. With a rush, the two rush together and begin to circle each other. Still entrapped in this dance, they slowly start to rise. In a few moments, they are well on their way into the sky, and you swear you can hear the faint sound of childish laughter.

No one says anything as you all watch the lights disappear into the starry sky above. Then your gaze falls onto the lowblood adult again. She has daintily situated Olly's body so that his hands are clasped over his ruined thoracic cavity. He almost looks as if he could be sleeping, which somehow makes the situation even worse.

"Now," she turns to the rest of the Doombringers with a blue-stained grin, "we work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crappily translated japanese via google ((followin in hussies footsteps))   
> olly: "I want the empress dead."   
> the handmaiden: "We all want that." , "Tell me your wish."  
> the handmaiden: "Oh, I can do that."
> 
> and so pass olly and syl, the most beloved ocs i have ever made for a fandom. unfortunately they are not the last deaths we shall be seeing. i would say im sorry but this fic has somehow slowly consumed my soul and spat it back out much worse for the wear. buckle up my dear readers. we are in for a ride


End file.
